Into The North
by Kailin
Summary: Fifteen years after Voldemort's fall, Severus Snape thought he'd finally found peace. Then he received an unexpected visit, and discovers that he's not the only one needing to make peace with the past.
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1: Out of the Blue**_

He thought he'd seen everything.

From murder to the vilest sorts of Dark Magic, from deepest heartache to gut-wrenching guilt, Severus Snape believed that there was no longer anything in this world that could surprise him. It wasn't until the float plane pulled up to his dock that he learned just how wrong he was.

The arrival of Brady Lawford was not terribly surprising in and of itself. Brady was the plane's pilot, the owner of the A-frame cabin where Snape lived, and one of the few links with civilization. Lawford usually showed up five or six times during fishing season, and almost never in winter. That he had come to be Snape's landlord in this remote neck of the Canadian wilderness was pure chance, and Severus still wasn't sure if this was a good thing.

Fifteen long, uneventful years had passed since Voldemort's defeat. Fifteen years since he'd been hauled before the Wizengamot for crimes against humanity. That was unexpected; Snape had fully expected to be on the wrong end of an _Avada Kedavra _at some point during the wizarding war, and he was mildly surprised to discover that, when all was said and done, he'd survived somehow. Even the prospect of Azkaban, newly restocked with an ample supply of Dementor guards, failed to invoke much consternation. Severus doubted whether the soul-sucking vermin would be able to find even a shred of a happy thought in his brain, and therefore, any Dementor unfortunate enough to be assigned to him would likely starve.

And then Minerva McGonagall, damn the woman's eyes, marched into the courtroom and provided proof that the murder of Albus Dumbledore was not what it appeared to be. She had the gall to produce the magical contract which required Snape to kill Dumbledore, at the latter's request - all part of the larger plan to bring down Voldemort - and present it before the court. The ridiculous thing was, Severus recalled thinking as he sat in the Prisoner's Box, that the woman actually _believed _she was doing him a favor by speaking up for him. Had he been allowed to speak, he would have told McGonagall to shut the hell up and get out of the courtroom, and let the Dementors have their way.

Extenuating circumstances, the Wizengamot finally decided. No Dementor's Kiss, not even life in prison. Instead, Severus Snape was ejected from Great Britain and told never to return. He was escorted to the Continent by Aurors, who strongly suggested that he get as far away as he possibly could, and then abandoned him.

The verdict had caught him off-guard, so much so that the words 'Now what?' raged through Snape's brain for the better part of a year. He didn't want to be free, hadn't planned on it, and being the next thing to exonerated was downright embarrassing.

And so Severus wandered through Europe, homeless, taking the odd apothecary job here and there for a bit of income. One employer in Spain liked him well enough to offer full-time employment, but Snape refused flat out. Spain was too warm for his tastes, and the people far too... colorful. Besides, he'd been trapped at Hogwarts for what seemed like a lifetime, and he had no intention of putting down roots anywhere for a very long while. With luck, he'd meet his end under the front of one of those smelly Muggle vehicles.

But stubbornly, painfully, his luck held out. When Severus was still alive by the one-year anniversary of his deportation, he bought a broomstick and decided to tempt the Fates by flying across the Atlantic. Surely, at some point, he would tire and fall to his death, doomed to a watery grave. It was rather a pleasant thought - no corpse to be found, no grave. As if anyone would come to mourn him, anyway.

And yet, when the Canadian coast loomed out of the mist (he'd taken a northerly route, hoping to freeze to death en route), Snape couldn't help but be impressed with himself. Whatever his eventual fate might be, he seemed to be inclined to live. Why, he didn't know.

He worked his way through Canada as he'd done the year before in Europe. It was different from the Continent: newer, freer, more spacious, more tolerant. Had Severus been in a mood to settle down, he might have made a go at it. But as the second year passed, his thoughts turned more and more to suicide. He saw absolutely no reason to trust life with another chance to wound him. The fact that he was still around was a fluke, pure and simple.

And so, after imbibing a good deal of alcohol one winter night in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Severus Apparated to what he expected to be the most Godforsaken place in the Northwoods and lay down in the snow. There would be no waking for him; the cold would overtake him swiftly, and the wolves would savage his lifeless body before morning. His last conscious thought was that Lupin the Werewolf would have the last laugh, after all.

Little did Snape know that he'd managed to Apparate onto private property. He awoke the next day to find himself bundled under blankets, staring at the wooden beams of someone's bedroom ceiling, and inhaling the bracing scent of coffee. Of all times for his luck to turn bad, he thought sourly. How in the world had he Apparated to the middle of nowhere, only to be rescued by some misguided Good Samaritan?

"_Good morning," a voice said, and Snape shifted his eyes from the ceiling to his apparent rescuer. _

_"What in hell am I doing here?" he snapped, leaving no doubt as to his displeasure._

_"I found you out in the woods," said an older man sporting a plaid flannel shirt and a full hair of wavy white hair. "You always go for a walk when it's thirty below?"_

_"I didn't ask you to find me," Snape retorted, wanting the man to go away. _

_"Tried to do yourself in?" the man asked. _

_"You might say that."_

"_What's your name?"_

_Snape paused. "Snow. Sebastian Snow." It was the name he'd been using ever since he'd arrived in Canada._

_"How'd you get all the way out here, anyway?"_

_"None of your damned business," Severus said, but the venom in his voice lacked its usual bite. The man had a steaming mug in his hands, and suddenly the notion of a hot, fragrant cup of coffee was the answer to everything._

_The man finally took notice. "Want some?"_

_"Yes." Snape forced the word through dried lips. Saying 'please' was not in his vocabulary. He saw no reason to include it now._

The man was Brady Lawford, a former airline pilot who had decided to take early retirement while he could still enjoy life. He'd seen too many people defer pleasure until they no longer had to work, only to be felled by a heart attack or stroke within months of retiring. His own wife, God rest her soul, had died at the hideously young age of thirty-six. Lawford knew all too well the cruelty of the Somedays which never came.

He bought a floatplane and started a charter business, flying well-paying customers to the remote lakes that dotted the North Woods. Operating out of his A-frame vacation cabin on an unnamed lake, Brady thought he had a perfect setup to last him for a good many years: he was living up North, spending his summers fishing and flying, holing up further south when winter came. It never occurred to him that he might marry again until he met Marita and fell wildly in love, and then living in the Canadian wilderness became the last thing on his mind. Lawford still flew the fishing charters, still kept the cabin, but stayed only an occasional weekend here and there. As a result, the cabin sat largely unused. Marita was a city woman, and didn't care to leave the comforts of their nice, warm Thunder Bay home.

Lawford had been on one of those weekend jaunts when he'd found Severus Snape half-dead, a hundred yards from the cabin. He couldn't imagine how anyone had managed to trudge from Trapper's Lake - ten miles, in hip-deep snow - to collapse on his doorstep, and was intrigued enough to let the stranger hang around long enough to recover.

Severus, of course, was virtually mum on the details of his life. He said nothing of magic, telling Lawford only that he'd been a chemistry professor in Britain, had been cleared in the death of a friend, and was asked to leave the country. Lawford took the news with equanimity, shrugging it off as 'what's past is past', and asking Snape if he liked to fish.

By the time Brady flew back to Thunder Bay, he was convinced enough of Snape's character to let him remain at the cabin for a few days or a few weeks until ready to move on. The days and weeks turned into months, then years. Severus discovered that he tolerated continuing to live, reveled in the solitude of the North, and actually liked Brady Lawford. The man's live-and-let-live philosophy meshed perfectly with Snape's unwillingness to divulge any part of his past.

As a result, Severus Snape was still living in Lawford's cabin thirteen years later. Somewhere along the way, he acquired an owl, began to subscribe to wizarding potions journals again, and set up a small lab in the cabin's tiny cellar. In short, Severus had reacquired the will to live. Lawford was initially suspicious of Snape's 'chemistry lab', wondering if he was producing something along the order of illicit drugs there. It was purely research, Severus told him, research he'd longed to do and never had the chance. Besides, he pointed out, how would he possibly deliver illegal drugs to potential buyers this far from civilization? Finally, Lawford decided that whatever Snape was up to was not only harmless, but a reasonable tradeoff for having a full-time caretaker at his hideaway.

For a cabin ten miles from town, Brady couldn't help but notice that Snape - or Sebastian Snow, as he believed him to be - kept the place well stocked. Every year, Brady Lawford asked Severus how he managed to get to Trapper's Landing for provisions. Severus merely smiled enigmatically and said that it was a pleasant walk. After a while, the question and the non-answer were an expected tradition.

Once, early on, Lawford commented that the Ojibwa knew what they were doing when they christened the lake 'Nahmeeookta'. It meant 'healing', he told Severus; the Ojibwa believed the lake to have magical healing properties. Snape had eyed him sharply, wondering if somehow his cover was blown, but Lawford had an easy answer.

"_You were hurting when you came here," Brady said simply, his use of the word 'magical' no more than a benign metaphor. "Nature heals, with time. Look at how far you've come already, Sebastian."_

Was Nahmeeookta a healing place? Snape had come to believe so. Somehow, over the span of thirteen years, he'd left a miserable life behind him and found peace. Tearing away the horrors of his past wasn't something he deliberately worked at. It was almost as if the issues floated, one by one, to the surface of his consciousness, where he dealt with them, then put them away. Eventually, being Severus Snape became less of a burden.

One night, Severus sat on the deck of the cabin, watching the Aurora Borealis streak the sky and sipping a glass of fine Merlot, and wondering if he was actually content. Surely he wasn't actually happy; happiness was that elusive something that only other people found. But being content was pleasure enough. True, his simple life was notable for the things he _didn't _have to contend with: there were no demands on his time, he was not a pawn in a war between light and dark, and he had no whining, useless students to instruct. That was a good thing.

Life had become quiet, peaceful, and good - until now, when the float plane tied up to the dock, and a passenger stepped out. And for the first time in fifteen years, Severus Snape found himself staring into the face of Hermione Granger.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2: The Unwelcome Visitor**_

"Granger!" Severus wasn't sure if he actually said the name aloud, or if it merely exploded inside his head and reverberated there.

Hermione Granger's eyes widened in shocked recognition. "Professor Snape?"

A hot rage coursed instantly through Snape's veins. He'd managed quite well for years with nothing - and no one - from Hogwarts to disturb his equilibrium, and the sight of Hermione Granger brought with it a torrent of unwelcome memories.

"I don't know what the hell you want with me, Granger, and I'm damned if I care. Fly her out of here, Brady," he snarled. "Now!"

With that, Severus turned on his heel and strode back up the path to the cabin, leaving Brady Lawford staring in astonishment. "You know Sebastian?" he asked his passenger.

Hermione wrenched her eyes back to the pilot just as the noise of the cabin door slamming shut echoed across the lake and back again. "That's the man you call Sebastian Snow?"

"Yeah. So he changed his name or something? I guess I'm not surprised. I knew that he'd left some sort of unpleasantness behind." Brady looked utterly bewildered at this turn of events. "What did you call him? Professor Somebody?"

"Professor Snape. Severus Snape. He was one of my teachers at school." Hermione wondered briefly if the name change was part of the terms of Snape's banishment from Britain, or if he'd come up with that on his own.

"He said he used to teach chemistry."

It was the usual way a wizard described an occupation in Potions to a Muggle. Of course, there was always the choice of 'apothecary' or 'pharmacist', but 'apothecary' was a bit outdated, and the term 'pharmacist' could bring up all sorts of inquiries about Muggle medications. It was also proof that Lawford knew nothing of Snape's wizarding status.

Hermione's mind raced back to the conversation she'd had with Lawford on the flight up from Thunder Bay. "Then that's the man you rescued? The one who tried to kill himself?"

"Right."

_Wouldn't Harry and Ron have had a field day with this? The greasy git, trying to do himself in?_ As always, Hermione pushed thoughts of Ron immediately out of her head, choosing to dwell on how Harry would have reacted. Minerva McGonagall's startling revelations during Snape's trial had made not one whit of difference to Harry Potter; as far as he was concerned, Snape remained the most detestable creature on earth next to Voldemort, binding agreements with Albus Dumbledore be damned. Hermione forced her attention back to the reason she was here.

"This shouldn't take very long, Mr. Lawford."

Brady chuckled mirthlessly. "You're right about that. Judging by that reception, you'll be lucky if Sebastian says five words to you. I have to say, I haven't seen him act like this for years. Usually he's quite pleasant. He must really dislike you."

That was putting it mildly. And Severus Snape, being described as pleasant? It was inconceivable. Hermione smoothed out her clothes and picked up the briefcase she'd deposited on the dock. "Where's the door to the place? Around the far side?"

"Yeah. What you see there under the deck is just the cellar Sebastian uses for his chemistry experiments." Lawford waved a hand toward a rough-hewn door in the stone wall facing them.

Hermione shifted her briefcase from one hand to the other, then started up the path around the side of the cabin, Brady trailing along behind her.

"Suppose he doesn't let me in?" she wanted to know.

Lawford snorted with laughter. "This is _my _house, missy. He'll let you in if I say so."

When they reached the small front stoop, Hermione raised a hand to knock, but Lawford grunted disapproval and pushed her aside. He turned the knob, opened the door, then waved her in ahead of him.

They were in the kitchen. Ahead and to the left was a dining table, strewn with pictureless magazines - Potions Journals, Hermione guessed immediately - and surrounded by worn ladder-back chairs. Beyond that lay a large living area with wood-burning stove and a wall of windows facing the lake. In the hands of the right decorator, Hermione thought, it could have been one of those vacation cabins she'd seen in Muggle magazines. She placed her briefcase on the table and waited.

"Sebastian?" Brady walked toward the stairs opposite the dining area, peering up into what was apparently a loft. "I don't know what your problem is, but this lady needs to talk to you. Government business."

"Go to hell." Snape's voice floated from above.

"She says it'll only take a few minutes," Brady continued.

"I don't have a few minutes."

"The hell you don't. Come down here and talk to her so I can get back in the air again. There's a cold front coming in."

There was silence. Lawford grimaced in Hermione's direction, then stared back up toward the loft. "Look, Snow, or Snipe, or whatever your name is, this is my house. If you want to continue living here, you'll get down here this minute!"

There was an uttered oath, then more silence. Finally, Hermione heard Snape's footsteps on the stairs and Lawford moved out of the way.

"Now then," Brady said, "you two have your little talk and I'll get the plane ready to go."

"You do that," a sullen Snape said, staring down Hermione Granger with a look of utter contempt. "The lady won't be staying long."

Lawford gave his tenant a puzzled, sideways glance before heading back out of the cabin. Hermione watched him go.

"Thank you, Mr. Lawford." She turned to face Snape, painfully aware of the nearly-black eyes boring holes into her.

The man was every bit as intimidating as he'd been during her time at Hogwarts, Hermione thought. His once-black hair was liberally streaked with gray at the temples and tied back in a longish ponytail, and the Severus Snape who was always so impeccably dressed in his wizarding robes now wore a black knit shirt and faded denim jeans. They looked oddly becoming on him, although from the way the clothes hung, Hermione suspected that he was even thinner than he'd been fifteen years ago.

"Please, sit down," she said, indicating the dining table.

"You're inviting me to sit at my own table?" Snape snapped.

"We could conduct this interview standing, Professor Snape, but it might be more comfortable if we were seated. Besides, I believe it's Mr. Lawford's table, not yours."

Severus didn't answer. He yanked a chair toward him viciously and sat, his arms crossed defiantly in front of him. Hermione took a seat also, and recalled that the last time she'd sat this close to Severus Snape, he'd been peering over her shoulder at a DADA essay.

One day during sixth year, when Ron was too busy acting the idiot with Lavender Brown to notice her, Hermione overheard several fourth years discussing how sexy they found Professor Snape to be. She'd immediately turned up her nose at the thought, but the notion somehow managed to lodge itself in her brain. She found herself observing Snape more closely, and saw that teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts had brought out the passion in the man. He loved the subject he taught, and it showed. Because of that, it was easier to overlook his sarcastic, rude nature. Before long Hermione was nursing her own little crush on Severus Snape.

Then, just before Ron came to his senses, Snape had hovered behind her in class one day. Hermione couldn't help but fancy that he was just as interested in catching a whiff of her perfume as poring over her essay, looking for flaws. To her great disappointment, there were no more displays of any interest in her the rest of that week or the next, and Hermione finally decided that her initial reaction to the idea of Snape being sexy was correct. Having a crush on that particular man was a lost cause, not to mention stupid and hopeless. She'd never told anyone about it, hadn't really even thought about it - until now.

Sitting practically knee to knee with Severus Snape, alone in a wilderness cabin, Hermione thought how her sixteen-year-old self would have killed to be in this position. She could imagine herself looking earnestly into those black eyes and saying _I can help you, Severus. I know you're hurting, and I can help you..._

She bit back a bitter laugh at the romantic idiocy of youth, turned it into a cough instead, and fumbled around in the briefcase until she found the correct papers.

"I am currently employed by the Canadian Wizarding Patent Office. According to my information, Professor, -"

"_Don't _call me that!"

"Very well," she retorted, "what do you want me to call you? Severus Snape or Sebastian Snow?"

"According to Brady Lawford, I'm Sebastian Snow. Legally, I'm still Severus Snape. However," Snape said in tones that dripped ice, "I'd prefer you not address me at all."

The voice was as silky, as nasty, as Hermione remembered, and the dark eyes glittered with an all too-familiar malice. For a moment, she was eleven years old and sitting in the Hogwarts Potions classroom, watching Snape belittle Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Time had done nothing to diminish Severus Snape's personality, Hermione thought. If Lawford thought Snape was a changed person, then he was as mental as Snape himself.

"Let's get this over with, shall we, _Mister _Snape? According to my information, an Insect Repelling Potion was dispensed to a Muggle last summer. Eventually, a sample found its way earlier this year to a wizard, who recognized it as having magical properties. I traced it back to Mr. Lawford, who tells me that you created that potion."

A smirk spread across Snape's face. "Of course I created it, Granger. If you spent much time up here, you'd know that the blackflies will eat you alive in the summer."

"Wizarding potions cannot be sold to Muggles," Hermione pointed out.

"I know that. Do you think I've lost my mind?"

"Then why did you sell -"

"I didn't sell anything, you stupid girl. I created it for myself. Lawford used it one time and was so impressed at its efficacy, he asked me to make some for him. He flies wealthy clients to various fishing resorts around here, and one time, one of them was in dire need of an insect repellant. Lawford merely passed it on."

"And eventually, it ended up in the possession of a wizard, who recognized it for what it was," Hermione said. "Wizarding potions cannot be sold to or issued -"

"- to Muggles with intent to leave said potions in their possession. Don't presume to quote the law to me, Granger."

"It's one thing to share your potion with a Mr. Lawford. Letting him walk away with it and share it with others is reckless behavior which endangers the general population."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "It's an Insect Repelling Potion, Granger. It's perfectly harmless to any Muggle who might get his hands on it. In fact, I'd say it wouldn't hurt a fly, but that would negate the point, now wouldn't it?"

"Legally, you have two choices." Hermione searched through her papers and found an official looking form. "You may apply for a patent for your potion which, if your formula is approved by the Committee on Experimental Substances, means you are then free to sell it on the open market. If you refuse, you'll be served with an injunction to cease and desist production for any use other than personal application."

There was no immediate response. Hermione added simply, "It's the law, Prof - Mr. Snape."

"You really think I give a damn?" Snape hissed in lethal tones. "For your information, I don't intend to stop making the potion, I don't care how many laws and forms you wave under my nose. Brady Lawford is my landlord, and preparing the potion for his clients is a small way of repaying him for allowing me to stay here."

Hermione stared at him, recognition slowly dawning. "You're still making it for him?"

Snape rose from his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Ten points to the know-it-all from Gryffindor. So bright... I knew there was a reason Minerva always held you in such high regard. Now if you don't mind, Granger, I do need to get downstairs to my lab. Mr. Lawford will be more than delighted to fly you out of here. Do give my regards to Potter and Weasley, won't you?"

Hermione stayed stubbornly put in her seat. "I'm afraid you'll need to sign either the consent or the waiver before I can -"

Severus glared holes right through her. "Get this straight, because I refuse to repeat myself: I will not share my formula with anyone, I will not sign some silly forms, and I _will _continue to prepare my Insect Repelling Potion for Brady Lawford, who can use it as he sees fit. Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Hermione said coldly. She climbed to her feet, returned her papers to the briefcase, and snapped it shut. "As always, it's a pleasure to find you so cooperative, _Professor_ Snape. I'm sure you'll be hearing from my superiors."

Snape watched her march to the door. Something, suddenly, prodded his brain into action.

"Tell me, Granger," he drawled, "what would Minerva's _wunderkind_ be doing lost in the midst of the Canadian Wizarding Patent Office? Shouldn't you have been named Minister of Magic in Britain by now? Or at the very least, be in charge of establishing some new order of social justice in British wizarding society?"

Hermione stopped short, then turned back to face Snape, eyes flashing. "Our conversation is over. And for your information, the name's not Granger. It's Weasley!"

She meant to fling open the screen door and march out of the cabin with her nose in the air, but Brady Lawford was standing on the porch, blocking her way.

"We're leaving, Mr. Lawford!" she snapped.

"Yes, ma'am." Brady backed out of her way at once, looking from Hermione to Snape and back again. He didn't fancy tangling with either one of these people right now. The woman sounded ready to spit nails, and Sebastian Snow looked positively murderous. It was likely to be a very long flight back to Thunder Bay.

Hermione let the screen door slam shut behind her with a bang. Severus could hear the crunch of footsteps as she and Lawford walked the gravel path back to the boat dock. Furious at Fate for dropping this particular woman in his way once more, he stormed past the stairs and into the cabin's lone bedroom, slamming that door closed in belated response.

God. Hermione Granger. No, Hermione Weasley.

Had the cabin and its contents belonged to him, Snape would have commenced throwing anything breakable he could find. Instead, he dropped onto the bed and pressed his fingers against his eyes until brilliant colors sprouted out of the darkness.

He was quite content with no one from the past to disturb his solitude. Why now? Why _her_?

So she had married the idiot Weasley after all, had she? No surprise there, Severus thought. It was merely proof of her bad taste and poor choices. And why, in the name of all that was holy, was she squandering her unimaginable talents in some lumbering, inept bureaucracy? At Hogwarts, Snape had never once complimented Hermione, except in a backhanded sort of way. He hadn't felt the need; there were already too many teachers fawning over her, and he had no intentions of joining the Granger Adoration League.

More than once, he wished that she'd been Sorted into Slytherin. Under his tutelage and with the right connections, Hermione Granger would have been an unstoppable force in the wizarding world.

Sad to see her sink to this level...

He wondered vaguely what Weasley was doing for a living. Playing Quidditch, no doubt. Couldn't make it on one of the teams in Britain, or was he bounced because of age? That was it, Severus decided smugly. One of the Canadian teams was probably his only hope to continue playing, and he'd dragged Hermione along half a world away.

As for the ridiculous business of the insect repellent... He had told Brady not to pass it along to anyone else, and the fool had done it anyway. But it had turned out well; Lawford's clients raved about the potion, and Severus was more than happy to turn out what was, in truth, a piddling amount for him. The last thing Snape wanted just now was another wizarding government horning its way into his affairs. Was it so difficult to just be left alone?

He himself to breathe slowly, deeply, willing the anger to leave. It had been years since he'd last experienced any spell of vitriol to compare to this, and he didn't like it one bit. Lying on the bed, Snape could still feel his pulse pounding and the adrenaline surging, a painful reminder of the past and of how much of his life had been wasted on self-destructive behavior.

By the time the sound of the float plane's engine had faded into the distance, Snape was nearly calm. He forced himself to go to the cellar and resume his work.


	3. Chapter 3

_**The Disclaimer, which I always forget to include: **_

_Does anybody out there _really _think I'm making money from this, or is unaware that the characters belong to JKR and not me? No? Good. On with the story. (And thanks to GraceHasVictory for her lovely beta work.)_

_**Chapter 3: Rematch**_

Brady Lawford kept his silence as Hermione strapped herself back into the floatplane, as they taxied down the length of the lake, as the plane became airborne. The thing was, the woman was still trembling from her encounter with Sebastian Snow, and although he was mildly concerned for her, he didn't relish the thought of having his head bitten off. Finally, as the plane leveled out and began to gain altitude, he decided it was safe to speak.

"Are you all right, ma'am?"

"I'm fine," Hermione muttered, knowing it was a bald-faced a lie and that Lawford wasn't fooled in the least.

She tried desperately to stop her brain from its endless repetition of startling revelations: Severus Snape, the man who'd killed Albus Dumbledore, living in a cabin on a remote Canadian wilderness lake, making insect repellant of all things. And as ill-tempered as he'd ever been, although his landlord claimed that his behavior usually ran to the opposite extreme.

Wasn't this the point at which she should wake up and realize the whole thing was a dream?

"Mr. Lawford..."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Tell me again how you found -" she nearly choked on the name "- Sebastian Snow outside your cabin."

Patiently, Brady Lawford repeated his story while Hermione stared at clouds on the horizon, trying to gather her wits about her.

"He didn't want to live," she said absently.

"Nope."

"And you said he hadn't behaved like this for a long time?"

"Not for a good many years," Brady said. "The first three years, he could be meaner than I-don't-know-what. I could tell that he was good and mad about something, but he never wanted to talk about it. Do you know what it was?"

"Yes."

Lawford paused, waiting for his passenger to enlighten him. When no more information was forthcoming, he cleared his throat and went on.

"Well, it's none of my business, of course. I can't complain. He's taken real good care of the cabin for me. I thought at first that he might burn the place down with those chemistry experiments of his, but he's a very careful man. Tidy, too."

Hermione nodded at Lawford's assessment of Snape's professional traits. "You see, the man I knew in Britain usually acted exactly as he did today. If he's not been behaving angrily for a long time, how exactly has he been behaving?"

Brady made a brief adjustment to the plane's altitude setting, then leaned back in his seat. "Just - normal, I guess. Not real talkative, but if there's nobody around to talk to, I guess you get out of the habit. I don't know how he can stand the solitude for months on end, but it seems to work for him. He likes to fish with me whenever I fly up. And sometimes we work up a pretty good poker game, although we only play for peanuts. Literally," Lawford added with a laugh. "He doesn't have any money that I know of, and Marita would have my hide if she found out I was gambling. The only thing that's always puzzled me is how he gets to town for supplies. It's a good ten mile trek down a gravel road."

Hermione knew exactly how Snape made it to town for supplies, but she wasn't about to enlighten Lawford. Severus Snape, fishing and playing poker. It was becoming stranger by the minute.

"Where's town?" she asked.

"Trapper's Bay, northeast of the cabin. Population of about three hundred, tops," Brady said with a grin. "Not a throbbing metropolis. Lots of Ojibwa, a few white."

"Do any of the locals say anything about him?"

"This is a remote place. If Sebastian was up to some kind of monkey business, they'd know about it." Lawford hesitated. "He _isn't_ up to some kind of monkey business, is he?"

"Not of which I'm aware."

"I know he's English," Brady went on, "but I think with his looks - the dark hair and all - the Ojibwa kind of accept him as one of them."

"Do you have any idea _why_ he changed?"

"I don't know. Like I said, he never told me anything much about his past. But I always had the feeling that he just got tired of being mad."

"Are you sure that he didn't have psychiatric help of some kind?" Hermione wondered aloud.

Brady's eyes widened. "You mean he's mentally ill? I guess he probably was when he was trying to kill himself, but do you think he still has problems?"

"No," she said hastily. She had a sudden vision of Lawford telling Snape to pack his bags and get out, all because of her. "I didn't mean that at all. It's just that he's had a troubled life. I can't imagine how he could put it all behind him without professional help."

"Well..." Lawford chuckled at this point, "you can choose to believe this or not, but the Ojibwa do have a legend about that particular lake. They call it Nahmeeookta, or The Spirit Which Speaks With Comfort. There's some Indian legend about a brave being healed of a broken heart. Maybe that's what happened to him."

Except that her experience was that Snape had no heart to break. Hermione said, "Can I find the lake on a map? Does it go by another name?"

"Technically, I think it's known as Portage Lake. Personally," Lawford added, grinning broadly, "I call it good fishing."

It was nearly dusk by the time the plane landed at Thunder Bay. Hermione thanked Lawford and paid him the cost of the charter.

"Will you be needing to go back to see Sebastian, do you think?" he wanted to know.

"I'm not sure. My boss isn't going to be very happy with what I have to tell her tomorrow morning." It was an understatement. Hermione didn't relish the thought of explaining to her supervisor that a wizard holed up in the woods was perfectly content to provide his Muggle landlord with a magical insect repellant.

Lawford pocketed the cash she'd given him. "Let me know if I can be of service again, Mrs. Weasley."

Hermione watched him go.

"It's Granger," she muttered to nobody.

Alma Hobbs was the most classic example of the word _spinster_ that Hermione had ever seen. The elderly woman who ran the Patents Department was skinny to the point of emaciation, wore her steel-gray hair in a tight bun, and it was rumored that she had not smiled since 1982. In addition, she ruled her employees with an iron fist, tolerated no loose ends, and demanded dedication to the job. That her department ran so smoothly was a testament to the fact that she had no personal life to speak of. As a result, her subordinates had no personal lives either. It was not a popular place to work.

At thirteen months, Hermione had been in Patents longer than anyone currently employed there, other than Alma Hobbs herself. She'd about reached the end of her tolerance (watching the job postings board was a major pastime) but had not yet applied to another department. Her current position was just another in a series of dead-end jobs since she'd arrived in Canada five years ago. Seeking out a position worthy of her many talents required an energy and drive that Hermione felt she no longer possessed.

She'd been right when she told Brady Lawford that her supervisor would not be pleased.

Alma Hobbs hadn't even finished reading the report when a scowl began to grace her pinched features.

"Perhaps Mr. Snow will cooperate when I slap him with a heavy penalty," she announced irately.

"I doubt it," Hermione said at once. "I suspect that he'll ignore it completely."

"We'll see about _that_. Perhaps he'll sing a different tune if I haul his butt into court for failure to cooperate."

Now _that _was a mental image that beggared the imagination. Silently, Hermione said, _No one hauls Severus Snape's butt anywhere it doesn't want to go, Alma. _Aloud: "I know Mr. Snow from Britain. He's not likely to cooperate under any circumstances."

"We'll see about that." Alma peered closer at the second parchment in her hand. "What's this? A five hundred dollar charge to charter a Muggle airplane?"

"Mr. Snow lives on a lake in a remote part of Ontario. The pilot also happens to own the cabin where Mr. Snow is living."

"Well, now that you know where he lives, you'll be able to Apparate there and avoid any more ridiculous charges like this. Airplane!" she sniffed, apparently horrified at the thought of her department paying for a Muggle conveyance.

"Apparate there?" Hermione asked faintly.

Alma waved a hand in the air. "Go by broom, if you wish. We can't leave this hanging, can we? The Prime Minister is most anxious to settle the matter."

Hermione stared at her blankly. "The Prime Minister? I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I thought you knew. The Prime Minister's nephew is the man who ended up with the insect repellant. He runs a large potion-producing factory in Winnipeg, and he believes it could be quite a lucrative product."

"Can't his Potions Masters deconstruct it for him?" Any Potions expert should be able to deduce the contents of a potion, Hermione knew.

"Apparently not. It's rather trickier than most, which is probably why it works when their similar products don't." Hobbs regarded Hermione severely over the top of her glasses. "If you know this Sebastian Snow, what will it take to convince him?"

_The Imperius Curse, _Hermione wanted to retort, but didn't. "I don't know, Madam Hobbs. I wasn't aware that someone wanted to market the potion. Perhaps it will make a difference in his response."

"Well, head back there tomorrow and see if you can get him to come around." Alma placed the parchment on the bottom of a stack of papers, and without even looking up, said, "That's all, Granger."

Hermione wondered if she should point out that tomorrow was Saturday, but she knew that the term 'weekend' was scarcely part of Alma Hobbs' vocabulary.

"Yes, Madam Hobbs." Resigned, Hermione climbed to her feet and left the office, wondering whatever had possessed her to take this job in the first place. The best thing that could be said for it was that it left her with very little time to think.

She dragged herself to her desk, a small cubicle in a very large office, and sat staring at the wall for a very long time. Facing Severus Snape again was the last thing she wanted to do, for a variety of reasons. But there was no apparent way out of it, and so Hermione tried to think just how she might present her case this time. Perhaps Snape would be swayed by the knowledge that someone wanted his formula. It could mean a lot of money for him if he'd only stand up and take ownership.

But on the other hand, his anonymity would be shot. And it just _had _to involve the nephew of the highest-ranking official in the wizarding government, didn't it? Given Snape's past experience with wizarding governments, Hermione wondered if she should leave out that little detail; he was likely to go utterly ballistic.

Although, Hermione thought, it meant that she wouldn't need to submit another report: Alma Hobbs would be able to hear Snape's screams of indignation all the way from the wilderness.

Dressed in more Northwoods-appropriate wear (jeans, a denim shirt, and loafers), and clutching her briefcase to her chest, Hermione Apparated from her apartment first thing the next morning. She was met with the abrupt sensation of slamming headlong into a brick wall, and by the time she actually materialized somewhere, already knew that Snape had put up wards. Only an extremely paranoid wizard would dream of guarding a place as remote as Lawford's cabin, Hermione thought, as she scrambled to her feet and looked around.

She was in the woods, that much was clear. Unfortunately, it was the only clear thing in sight, as a thick fog obscured anything farther than five feet away. How close was she to the cabin? A hundred yards? A mile? It was impossible to tell.

"Hello?" Her voice seemed to bounce off the fog and back without actually carrying.

Hermione dropped the heavy briefcase next to her feet and sank onto a large rock, wondering how long it would take the morning sun to burn off the fog. Calling out for Snape probably wasn't the best option anyway; he'd be livid enough when she showed up at the door, let alone if he had to wander around trying to find her. She waited - five minutes, ten minutes. Sometimes, she could make out a brightening above her, as the sun tried its best to shine through. It wasn't enough, however, and the fog remained as impenetrable as before.

Thoroughly impatient by the time twenty minutes had gone by, Hermione climbed to her feet and decided to wander around a bit. Perhaps the ground rose nearby; after all, Snape's cabin had been perched twenty feet or so above the lake, and it was possible that she could gain a better view of her surroundings. She hefted the heavy briefcase into her arms, swore to herself that she would clean it out before the weekend was over, and started walking. If the fog didn't lift in another fifteen minutes, or if she was unable to find higher ground by that time, Hermione decided that she would Apparate home and try again tomorrow.

She'd barely gone twenty feet when she was stopped dead in her tracks by the eerie cry of a loon nearby. While the sound would have been hauntingly beautiful any other time, in the dense whiteness of the fog it was downright eerie. She walked on and after several minutes, the ground under her feet became more rock than soil, and definitely slanted upward. The fog was thinning as well, Hermione noted eagerly. She mounted the rocks, certain that she'd be able to spot something any minute now.

And then her foot hit a patch of damp moss. Hermione's foot slipped out from under her, plunging her to all fours. She struggled to her feet, but just as she'd gotten back upright and picked up the briefcase once more, a pain shot through one knee. Off-balance as she instinctively grabbed her leg, the sudden motion caused her to tumble sideways and down a rocky slope.

Hermione slowed to a stop, but a splash told her that her briefcase hadn't been so lucky. Cursing aloud, she struggled to her feet, fumbling for her wand. But before she could get her wand from her pocket, her feet slipped once more and her ankle twisted. Her head hit solid rock with a resounding crack.

All Hermione could do was lie there, gasping through a haze of pain. Finally, she managed to push herself up to a sitting position. It was definitely time to give up the fight and go home. First, however, she would have to summon her briefcase from the water. But as she tried to stand, a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her; she stumbled, pitched forward, and found herself tumbling straight into the cold water of Lake Whatever-The-Indians-Called-It.

Gasping, she spluttered and tried to right herself. She expected to encounter more rocks with her feet, a gradual deepening of the water. Instead, her toes barely scraped bottom at that spot. Hermione tried frantically to dog paddle back the few feet back to shore. Under normal circumstances, she was a decent enough swimmer. These, however, weren't normal circumstances: the water was flat-out cold and her head throbbed painfully. After some undignified flailing about, Hermione made it back to the rocky ledge from which she'd fallen.

The briefcase would just have to wait for another time. Trembling all over, she took some deep breaths and tried to Apparate. But there was only the briefest flicker of motion, a good indication that she didn't have the strength right now to go anywhere.

"Help! Help me! Snape? Snape! Help me!"

Even as she called for help, Hermione loathed what she was doing. She didn't want to be rescued by Severus Snape. He'd never let her forget about it, should their paths ever cross in the future. On the other hand, she thought, chances were probably better that he'd hear her voice, realize who it was, and choose to let her drown.

For what seemed an eternity, she huddled half-on, half-off the rocks, her body soaking wet and chilled to the bone. Just as she decided that Snape had either ignored her pleas or not heard her at all, there was the sound of a paddle dipping into the water nearby. Hermione looked up to find, appearing out of the fog, a canoe heading straight for her.

And she understood why the Ojibwa might think Snape was one of them.

His dark hair hung around his shoulders, and his eyes were grim and focused. In the heavy mist she could imagine him as a determined brave, paddling a birch-bark canoe on a northern lake.

Wordlessly, Snape stowed the paddle and whipped out his wand.

"_Arresto momentum," _he said, and the boat slid to a halt.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4: Rescued**_

****Hermione's first instinct was to grab for the canoe. Immediately, Severus smacked her hand hard with the paddle.

"Ouch!" Tears of pain sprang to her eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Idiot girl! Do you want us both in the water?"

"What, then?" Hermione snapped, deciding to hex Snape twenty different ways once she had the opportunity.

"Just hold still!" Snape stowed the paddle in the bottom of the canoe and whipped out his wand in her direction. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

She felt herself lifting gently out of the water and moving up and above the canoe.

"I think I sprained my ankle. Watch out for - ow!" The warning came too late; Hermione's dangling left foot struck the side of the canoe.

Snape's concentration broke immediately, and she fell like a sack of potatoes into the boat. It rocked wildly for a moment, forward, backward, side to side. Hermione could feel icy black eyes burning into her as she tried to right herself.

"Would you," Severus seethed, "_just...stay...still_?"

Hermione bit back a caustic reply and pushed her dripping hair out of her eyes. As soon as they disembarked, she decided, she would take inventory of her aching body parts and, if need be, drag herself to the nearest point where she could Apparate home. She'd had all she could take of Severus Snape and the North Woods for one day.

"Sit up," Snape growled.

"Make up your mind, would you? You just told me to -"

"You're on top of the paddle."

Wearily, Hermione tried to raise up, but the canoe began to rock once more. Cursing under his breath, Snape tugged her upright with one arm and quickly pulled the paddle out from under her with the other. Within moments, they were underway at far too high a speed for one man paddling a canoe.

"You're not paddling," she said accusingly. "You're using magic. Why did you need the oar?"

"I wasn't aware that you were so experienced in piloting a canoe. Would you care to switch positions?" Snape demanded in icy tones. "No? Then shut up and sit still."

Hermione fumed silently while minutes slid by. With the fog still blanketing the lake, there was only the slap of water against the hull to mark progress. "Just how far down the shore did I end up, anyway?" she asked finally, wondering if she'd been quiet long enough to satisfy Snape.

"You didn't end up _down _the shore, you ended up on a small island in the middle of the lake. You're lucky you didn't end up _in _the lake."

Well, _that _would have been a rude awakening. "Just how far do your wards extend, anyway?"

"About a kilometer's radius from the cabin on land. Onto the water, as far as the island - about half a kilometer."

Hermione's jaw dropped in astonishment. "Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"Given what you know of my past," Severus drawled in annoyance, "why would you find that to be extreme?"

"Don't tell me you have enemies even out here."

"No, I happen to have solitude. And I like it that way."

Suddenly, the upright posts of the dock loomed out of the fog. With one final burst of speed, Snape slid the canoe past the dock and onto the shore. Gravel crunched as the canoe came to an abrupt halt at the water's edge, and Hermione, who had made minor progress in propping herself upright within the boat, found herself tumbling onto her back once more.

"You did that on purpose," she muttered.

Severus climbed out of the canoe without answering. He splashed the few paces onto dry land, grabbed a rope that was tied to the bow, and pulled the canoe forward another foot.

****"I don't suppose that you'd like to help me out of this thing, would you?" Hermione's voice rang with sarcasm.

With more force than was absolutely necessary, Snape grabbed one arm and pulled her upright. The motion landed Hermione on both feet, and immediately, she winced and transferred her weight to her sound right ankle.

"I don't suppose you can walk unassisted, can you?" he demanded in a perfect imitation of her previous question.

Hermione glared at him, jerked her arm away, and began to hobble towards the path to the cabin.

She'd made her point sufficiently: Snape went on ahead without bothering to offer any help. Hermione was panting by the time she reached the door.

"Here." He met her there, handed her a wad of clothing, and nodded towards the bathroom. "Put these on after you've taken a hot shower."

"I don't need your clothes. I'll just use a drying charm once I've -"

"They're not my clothes, they're Lawford's, and they're warm and dry. You can dry your own garments later." With that, Snape disappeared back outside.

Hermione shut her eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply. Her head throbbed, her knees hurt, and her ankle ached, and suddenly a hot shower sounded like the finest idea in the world. She hobbled into the bathroom and began to undress, a process made more difficult by the fact that she was now shivering violently. Peeling off the soaked denim jeans turned out to be an exercise in self-inflicted pain, and one look at her bare legs showed why: both knees were scraped and skinned, and the swollen left ankle was already turning a delicate shade of purple.

Wearily, Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Her lips were almost blue from the cold and her hair stuck out in all directions. The Hogwarts student of whom everybody expected Great Things was a thirty-three year old failure and a complete wreck.

Great. Just great. How had her life ended up like this?

She turned the water on in the shower stall and climbed in, letting the streams of hot water pound away at her flesh and temper the memory of her dip in the lake. It was only after she tired of perching on one leg that she turned off the tap and reached for a towel.

Snape's towel. _Who would have thought that one day I'd be using Severus Snape's towel, _she thought dryly, but even as she said it her mind automatically corrected itself: _Brady Lawford's towel, idiot..._

Lawford's clothes turned out to be a pair of gray track trousers and a horribly ragged green sweatshirt. But they were soft with the wear of years, and Hermione slipped them on as soon as she placed a drying charm on her underwear. The jeans and the sweater would take longer to dry, and she was suddenly grateful to Snape for providing the temporary clothing, oversized though they might be. She had a sudden memory of Harry at age eleven, clad in his cousin Dudley's clothing and overwhelmed by it.

Out of long habit, Hermione started to push the memory aside. But this one was a pleasant, benign memory from simpler times, and she allowed herself to smile at it briefly before forcing her mind back to the task at hand.

A brief drying charm expelled most of the moisture from her hair. Hermione twisted her curls into a vague knot on top of her head, then stuck her wand through it to hold it in place. She didn't look much better after the shower than before, she decided as she gazed at her reflection, but at least she was warm. By the time she limped from the bathroom, her spirits had lifted marginally, even if her aches and pains hadn't. She found Severus Snape in the living room, feeding fresh logs to the wood-burning stove.

"Thank you for the loan of the clothing," Hermione ventured tentatively.

Snape said nothing at first; finally, he stood back upright, put the fireplace poker back in its rack, and turned to face her.

"I can only assume," he said, "that you are here because your supervisor did not care for my response on Thursday."

"In a word, yes."

The scowl on his face indicated exactly what Snape thought of that. He motioned her toward the sofa that sat a few feet from the stove. "Sit."

"I'm really very sorry -" she began, gingerly lowering herself to the sofa.

"I'm quite sure that you are," Severus said flatly. He walked into the kitchen, leaving Hermione with nothing to do but stare out the windows at the brightening day outside. The fog, it seemed, had finally decided to lift.

"Is it always this foggy in the morning here?" she asked, casting about for a polite topic of conversation.

"Rarely. You chose the wrong day."

The usual bite in Snape's voice seemed to be lacking. Hermione was totally taken aback when he returned several minutes later with a cup of tea, which he held out to her. "For me?" she asked stupidly.

"Of course it's for you. Do you want it or not?" Snape demanded.

"Yes, thank you." Severus Snape, bringing her a cup of tea? It was an uncharacteristic kindness, along with his offer of the dry clothes. "You see, I hadn't planned to come back here, but Madam Hobbs insisted."

"Madam Hobbs would be your supervisor?"

A nod as Hermione took a sip.

Snape took a seat in the overstuffed chair across from her. "It's no use, you know. I don't give a damn about the government and what they want me to do."

"I understand, but -" Hermione groaned aloud. "Oh, no... My briefcase... I dropped it in the lake."

With an expression of pure exasperation, Snape rose once more, opened the door to the deck, and pulled out his wand. He aimed it into the distance.

"_Accio Weasley's briefcase._"

There was a sinking feeling in Hermione's stomach that had nothing to do with her wide variety of injuries. "It won't work," she muttered.

"What?"

"I said, it won't work. Try _Accio Granger's briefcase._"

Snape started to turn back towards the lake, then fixed her with a withering glare. "Tell me, _Granger, _were not your last words on Thursday to inform me that your name was now Weasley? Did you, by some mysterious quirk of fate, change your name overnight?"

Ah. There was the Snape of old. "Just try it," she sighed. "Please."

He did, and moments later, a dripping leather bag deposited itself on the deck. Hermione was glad to see it, even with water streaming from each and every pore. She shook her head in dismay at the thought of the number of drying charms she'd have to do, and immediately regretted it.

"Would you happen to have anything for pain? I tripped and hit my head in the fog, and I twisted my ankle, too..."

Severus abandoned the briefcase and strode toward her. "Look at me." He grasped her chin and tilted it upwards so that her face was closer to the nearby lamp.

"Ow!" Hermione winced at the sudden movement. "What are you -"

"No concussion," Snape said flatly, pushing her chin away.

"How can you tell?"

"I can tell. Surely you don't think that I sent every Slytherin with a bump on the head to Pomfrey."

Hermione inwardly thanked her lucky stars that her Head of House had been McGonagall. "As I said, do you have anything I can take?"

"Downstairs in my lab. I don't have the usual..." Snape's voice trailed off. "I do have something, but it's rather strong. Wait here."

As if she had a choice. "No problem," Hermione muttered. Moments later, she could hear activity in the cellar workshop beneath her. Soon, Snape returned with a small bottle in his hand.

"It's the Iberian Formula for Severe Pain. Take it or leave it, it's all I have available at the moment."

Hermione tipped the bottle into her mouth. The solution was surprisingly sweet and fruity; her past experiences had taught her that if Snape made it, it was likely to taste utterly foul. "Thank you," she said gratefully, handing the bottle back when she'd drained it.

"I spent some time working for an Apothecary in Spain," Severus told her. "I found that they're rather fond of their flavor additives there."

"Imagine that," Hermione said dryly. "A potion that tastes good _and _works well."

Once more, Snape took the chair across from her, draped his legs out in front of him and crossed his hands in his lap. "Very well, Granger, or Weasley, or whoever you are, what will it take to appease your supervisor?"

She sighed and leaned back into the sofa. "It's not just about the legalities of registering the formula, I'm afraid. I found out that your insect repellant made it into the hands of the Prime Minister's nephew. He owns a large potions factory in Winnipeg, and apparently he thinks he could make a lot of money with it."

"Of that, I have no doubt. I take it that his staff was unable to deconstruct it?"

"That's correct." The pain was beginning to ease a little. Hermione saw the lofty expression slide across Snape's face, and immediately the corners of her mouth twisted into a smile. "You did that on purpose, didn't you? You put in a decoy ingredient of some sort so that no one but you could deconstruct it."

"Surely you knew that I created a fair number of somewhat...misleading potions for the Dark Lord. Had they been deconstructed, I would have been a dead man twenty times over. I'm not stupid, Granger."

"No, sir. You were never stupid." The words were out before Hermione could stop them. Aghast, she stared at Snape to gauge his reaction, and discovered that there were now two of him. "Uh... That Iber-whatsit Potion you gave me -"

"Is rather strong, yes."

"It certainly is..." The words were barely out of her mouth before Hermione realized that she was listing dangerously to one side.

Severus sighed audibly. He rose from his seat, pushed Hermione's shoulder gently with one finger. The girl collapsed sideways onto the sofa.

By the time he returned with a blanket and a charmed cold pack for her ankle, Hermione was already snoring.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5: Curriculum Vitae**_

Snape used his wand to adjust the level of flame underneath the cauldron, causing the Soothing Potion to simmer away with the faintest of burbles. There was currently nothing else in the lab over an open flame, which meant that it was relatively cool in the tiny cellar. Summers in the Northwoods, while not terribly hot, could still become rather warm at midday, and working on as many as half a dozen potions at a time frequently meant the room was unbearably humid. As a result, he tried to keep summer brewing to an absolute minimum.

That he'd started a batch of Soothing Potion was Granger's fault. Snape wasn't terribly surprised when the girl keeled over after drinking the Iberian Formula for Pain; it was, after all, intended for discomfort more severe than hers. Still, it was a blatant reminder that it was time to begin restocking his supply of less potent items. He'd recently made a trip to Trapper's Bay, and doing business with Randolph at The Outpost had taken much of what he'd prepared during the past spring.

During the thirteen years he had lived at Lawford's cabin, Snape had discovered that a high percentage of the local Native Americans were exceptionally gifted in natural magic. They waved no wands nor answered to any magical body, yet their deep connection to nature and its healing forces deeply impressed him. The idea of potions came as naturally to them as breathing, so it was little wonder that Severus and the local Ojibwa felt a near kinship from the beginning. As a result, Severus had a highly successful business going: he bartered a variety of potions for food, drink, books, and other necessities of life. The Insect Repelling Potion was merely the tip of the iceberg; he'd kept the residents of Trapper's Bay supplied with a wide variety of ointments, unguents, and elixirs for years. The extent of his enterprise would send Granger and her supervisor into fits of apoplexy.

Even Brady Lawford knew virtually nothing of this, believing only that Severus made a tanning solution - one that aided in pelt and leather preparation - and used that to barter for supplies. It was bad luck, pure and simple, that the Insect Repelling Potion had managed to end up in the hands of a wizard knowledgeable enough about potions to see a potential gold mine and try to exploit it.

Perhaps it wouldn't kill him to sell the formula, Severus thought glumly. Generally, there was nothing he needed for which he couldn't barter in Trapper's Bay. But recently, an offhanded comment by Lawford had set Snape to thinking about the future. While there on one of his weekend fishing jaunts, Brady had lamented his stiffening joints and the aging process in general; the man was in his early sixties, young in wizard years and not terribly old for a Muggle, yet Severus learned that Muggle airplane pilots weren't allowed to fly forever. Someday, Lawford would no longer be able to fly his charter passengers to their resorts, might not even be able to make it to his own cabin. It occurred to Snape that his landlord might sell the place out from under him, leaving him homeless once more.

Severus had been comfortably settled long enough to find the prospect of relocating extremely distasteful. He had actually discovered contentment in his lonely existence in remote Ontario, something he'd never been able to achieve while in Britain. His tiny cellar laboratory was arranged exactly to his liking, the routine potions he made for barter kept him fed, and he had plenty of time for the research he'd always wanted to do. Perhaps, if he could get a decent price for the insect repellant formula, he could start a nest egg, and possibly purchase Lawford's cabin or a similar place one day.

What Severus didn't want, and would avoid at all possible cost, was having his peaceful life upended by a silly government bureaucracy. He could picture a horde of bureaucrats checking up on him every few months to see if he was inflicting magical potions on the Muggle world. It seemed unlikely that Granger's boss would leave him alone unless he signed some dratted form or another.

Granger. Severus wondered if she were awake yet. He could sign on the dotted line, get her to an Apparition point, and his life would return to normal.

Snape quickly cast a charm around the bubbling potion so that there would be no risk of the fire getting out of control, and stepped out into bright sunlight. The fog was long gone and it had turned into a pleasant day after all, he noted, climbing the outside stairs to the deck. A quick glance through the window showed that Granger was still sound asleep; her briefcase remained on the deck, sodden and untouched.

Damn. The girl would probably sleep for the rest of the day if he didn't intervene. Severus opened the sliding glass door and walked over to the sofa.

"Granger." He prodded her in the leg.

There was no response. Snape tried again, shaking her shoulder this time. "Granger, wake up."

He noticed a slight fluttering behind her eyelids, but other than that and a bead of drool that quivered at the corner of her mouth, there was no indication that she was even alive. Annoyed, Snape pulled out his wand and pointed it at her. "_Ennervate_," he muttered.

Hermione shot straight up into a sitting position. "No," she moaned, "I can't! There's nothing I can do. I can't help him! I've tried!"

Severus ignored her ramblings. "Granger, I need to -"

"Professor Snape?" She stared at him. Then, her eyes glassed over, and she slumped onto the sofa once more, muttering something incomprehensible.

A long, drawn-out sigh escaped him. Severus scowled at the woman, thoroughly annoyed with himself for being so accommodating. The next time someone asked him if he had something available for pain, the answer would be a flat-out 'no'. There was nothing to do but wait until Granger decided to return to consciousness on her own terms. Meanwhile, he decided, he would have his lunch. Snape's Saturday routine during the summer was to have a glass of nice wine on the deck, along with a plate of cheese and sausages, and he saw no need to vary from that even if there was an unconscious woman on his couch. Severus fixed his plate and filled his wine glass, then carried his food out to the deck and settled into an Adirondack chair.

His eyes narrowed at the sight of the briefcase. Might as well get on with drying it; it would save time later on.

One wave of the wand opened the briefcase, while the next brought a great lump of wet parchment flying out of it. It took a good fifteen minutes of wand flourishing in-between bites of lunch to free each page and dry it, and Snape decided that he would point out to Granger that she should be quite grateful to him for his assistance. As soon as the last parchment had smoothed itself out and fallen on the top of the parchment pile, Severus dried the briefcase and prepared to return the contents.

Planning to return his plate and wine glass to the kitchen, Severus rose to his feet. Just then, the wind came up, and the top several parchments scattered over the deck. Annoyed, he bent over and picked up the blown papers. The heading of one caught his eye immediately:

**Curriculum Vitae**

**Hermione Jane Granger**

**Born 19 September, 1979**

**Completed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1998, fully qualified by standard examination in eleven areas**

Curious to see just how the woman had wasted her time since leaving Hogwarts, Snape began to read. It took only seconds for his jaw to drop.

**Received Master's Level Certification in Potions, 2001; Private Tutorial with Ravinius Dillweed (MLC, 1944), London, British Isles;**

Granger was a Potions Master? She was his bloody _peer_? Severus was stunned, if only because he was certain none of his former students would _ever _have expressed interest in Potions Certification. A few years of his classes were generally enough to discourage even the most promising. And as for Ravinius Dillweed, Snape couldn't believe that the old fossil was still around, much less up to teaching Master Classes... He let his eyes travel down the page.

**Received Master's Level Certification in Charms, 2004; Private Tutorial with Edina Cockerell (MLC 1951), London, British Isles;**

_And _a Charms Master? It crossed his mind that perhaps the obnoxious little overachiever had tried to obtain Master Certification in every last subject she'd ever studied, but then the list of her past jobs began.

**2004: Appointed Director of Developmental Potions Research, Maxwell Magical Pharmaceuticals, London, British Isles;**

**2006: Appointed Director of newly created Department of Charm Innovation and Standardization, Ministry of Magic, London, British Isles;**

**2008: Appointed to Broomstick Quality Control Project, Ontario, Canada;**

**2009: Appointed to Textbook Editing Commission, Ontario, Canada;**

**2010: Appointed to Magical Creature Restraint Office, Ontario, Canada;**

**2011: Appointed to Department of Magical Patents, Ontario, Canada**

**Married to Ronald B. Weasley, 2004 - 2008, no children**

**References available upon request**

Snape sat back down in the Adirondack chair, his lunch dishes forgotten. He read the résumé once more, letting its impact sink in. Hermione Granger, the idiot Potter's good friend, held a Master's Level Certification in both Charms and Potions, had been the director of two departments, and then - and Severus rechecked the dates to be certain that he'd read correctly - left her marriage and Britain the same year. Not only that, the positions she'd held in Canada the past few years did not appear to be anywhere near as grand as the ones she'd left behind.

What had happened to Weasley, Severus wondered? Dead? Divorced? For the first time, he considered Hermione Granger with interest. Little Miss Perfect's life, apparently, was not.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Hermione awoke. From her horizontal position on the sofa, she opened one eye, then two, and was assaulted by momentary disorientation. Her apartment had no wood-burning stove, so what was one doing there? Nor was there a lake outside of -

Oh.

She pushed herself upright and sat, staring out the wide windows at bright sunlight glinting off blue water. Tentatively, Hermione stretched her neck from side to side; her head seemed disinclined to fall off, which was a good thing. She tugged away the blanket over her legs, finding her ankle wrapped in a towel still cold from the charm that had made it that way.

"_Finite Incantatem_," she muttered, hoping the non-verbal spell would be enough. Her wand was somewhere, but for the life of her she couldn't recall exactly where.

The towel fell away. Hermione reached down to probe her left ankle gingerly. The swelling had gone down quite a bit, but the true test was to see how well she could walk on it. Carefully, because she wasn't at all certain that the pain potion had worn off, she climbed to her feet.

The ankle was sore enough to ensure that walking became hobbling after only two steps. Hermione scowled at the idea that she'd be limping around all week. When it came to sprains and strains, magical medicine was no more advanced than Muggle medicine: time alone would have to heal her. She paused in the middle of the room to look around her, and caught sight of a clock. Was that right? _Three o'clock in the afternoon? _Aghast, Hermione checked her watch at once and discovered that the clock was correct.

"Professor Snape?" she called, knowing that he'd be likely to bite off her head for using his former title, but unsure how else to refer to the man.

There was no response. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to go snooping around, looking for him - it was an activity rather like provoking a sleeping dog - yet she'd spent enough time on the couch to want to avoid sitting and waiting. She hobbled towards the sliding glass door, pushed the screen aside, and stepped out onto the deck.

The view was stunning. Blue water rippled quietly in a soft breeze, and birch trees shone bright white in the sunlight. A loon cruised past the cabin's dock, dipping its black and white head underwater here and there, looking for a fish, while a flock of ducks swam in the other direction. It was a far cry from the cold, damp morning, Hermione thought, and immediately her eyes sought out the island where she'd landed. It was little more than a spit of rocks and trees in the middle of the lake, she discovered; perhaps it really was a miracle that she hadn't ended up Apparating into the lake itself.

"I see you're finally awake." From the far end of the deck, Snape regarded her from his Adirondack chair, a stack of papers in his lap and reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Hermione started at the sound of his voice. For a split second, she teetered off-balance on her good leg and had to steady herself against the doorframe.

Severus sighed and motioned to the empty chair next to him. "Sit down, Granger, before you do yourself any further harm today."

"I'm sorry. I didn't see you sitting there, and you took me by surprise, that's all." Hermione limped over and lowered herself into the chair. "It was kind of you to let me sleep."

"I didn't know I had a choice, given your level of consciousness. Are you feeling better?"

"I think I'll live."

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"No," Hermione admitted.

"There is some cheese and summer sausage in the refrigerator. Would you care for some?"

Severus Snape being polite to her, offering her food? It crossed Hermione's mind to wonder if she were still asleep. "That would be very nice, thank you," she stammered.

Snape put down his stack of papers and rose from his chair, leaving Hermione to gape at his retreating back. She'd half-expected him to tell her to stand up and get it herself. He returned minutes later with a plate piled with cheese, sausages and grapes.

The food tasted delicious, and it was all she could do to make herself eat slowly and with a modicum of good manners; she hadn't realized how hungry she was until now. Snape, meanwhile, had returned to his chair and the pile of papers. Hermione was forcibly reminded of the common sight of then-Professor Snape grading large stacks of homework assignments.

"I assume you're no longer marking essays," she said between bites.

"You assume correctly," Severus said, not bothering to look up. "I do not intend to mark another student as long as I live."

Hermione smiled faintly. "You despised teaching, didn't you?"

"With a passion. I loathed it."

She started to ask why he had kept at it for so long, then it occurred to her that she already knew the reason. "You had to do it, didn't you?"

"Do what?" Snape looked up sharply. "Teach?"

She nodded.

"Only if I wished to remain outside the walls of Azkaban," he remarked acerbically, returning his attention to his papers. "But of course, you knew that, as every last wretched detail of my life was made public during my trial."

Not at all eager to encourage a discussion of Snape's past sins, Hermione said nothing, but bit into a grape instead. The man was being reasonably polite and civil, and she wanted to keep it that way. "I learned quite a bit in your classes," she said after a moment.

"I'll grant you that. It takes a great deal of skill to create a decent potion while supporting the likes of an idiot like Neville Longbottom."

"Neville's doing well," Hermione said, ignoring the jibe. "Last I heard, he was Assistant Director of the National Herbarium."

"Good for him. I'm glad he found a use for his pitiful talents."

Snape's attention was focused on the papers in his lap once more. Hermione couldn't help but be curious. "May I ask what you're working on?"

His look of disdain told her that the veneer of politeness was evidently thinner than she thought. "If you must. After all, we're peers, are we not?"

Hermione stared at him blankly. "Peers?"

"How _is _old Ravinius Dillweed, anyway?"

Her cheeks flushed crimson. "You went through my papers!" she said fiercely.

"That's not quite correct. I dried the contents of your briefcase, as well as the case itself. Your Curriculum Vitae was ready to blow away, and I rescued it. Should I have allowed it to float away in the lake, lest I see the list of your many accomplishments?" Severus arched an eyebrow in Hermione's direction.

Hermione's jaw clenched. "I appreciate the drying charms, but you didn't have the right to -"

"Possibly not, but I read it anyway," Snape said before she could finish her sentence. "So, Granger, how did you end up in Potions? Please don't tell me it was because I inspired you."

"I liked Potions." Hermione's voice was cool. "I wanted to further my education after I left Hogwarts, and Potions appealed to me. I wanted to do research, to find ways to make the world a better place."

"Yet you are a Charms Master as well."

"I liked Charms, too. I decided to focus there after I completed my Potions

practicum."

"You limited yourself to only two fields of expertise? I'm shocked, Granger. The way you absorbed textbooks, I would have thought you'd be the most educated witch in the world by now."

With a great deal of effort, Hermione disregarded the sarcastic remark. "Sorry to disappoint you. I'm afraid I had other goals in mind."

"Ah, yes. You wanted to begin breeding Weasleys."

Her face suffused a deep crimson. Had she been sitting across from Snape, Hermione thought, she would have taken a swing at him. As it was, from her position alongside, there was nothing physical she could do.

"I fail to see how Mr. Lawford can claim that you are a pleasant person, Professor Snape. You are no less rude or offensive than you've ever been. I appreciate your hospitality, but I believe it's time for me to leave." Hermione put her plate down on the deck railing with a clatter and tried to stand.

It would have been a dramatic gesture had she been able to pull it off. But climbing to her feet, only one of which could support her, threw Hermione off-balance. She bumped into the plate, which fell to the ground fifteen feet below and shattered. Spinning away from Snape, on one foot, on a tilted axis, merely sent her crashing backwards onto the deck. Frustrated and embarrassed, Hermione looked up to find Severus Snape standing over her with a hand extended, _laughing _at her

She was frankly stunned. No one at Hogwarts had ever seen Snape laugh. No one believed he knew how.

"Granger," he said, pulling her upright and chuckling as he did so, "grace does not seem to be your strong suit. Now please, sit down and explain to me what an intelligent woman such as yourself is doing in a patent office, of all places."

Hermione dusted herself off and ignored the chair, choosing instead to perch on the deck railing. "Why do you care?" she asked indignantly.

"Because it galls me to see a brilliant mind put to waste." Sobering, Snape stood in front of her, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"You have a way of making the words 'a brilliant mind' sound positively distasteful, do you know that?" she demanded. "If you believed I was that brilliant, why didn't you ever tell me when I was at school?"

"What you displayed at Hogwarts, my dear Miss Granger, was _potential._ Brilliance is not displayed by parroting back what you find in books."

Hermione shook her head wearily. "Would it have killed you to compliment me just once?"

Severus shrugged. "I thought I did, as I rarely found fault with your performance."

"So your idea of praising someone is by not demeaning them at every turn?" she asked, astonished.

"What do you want from me, Granger? You were an excellent student. Would that every little pubescent mind worked like yours. Perhaps teaching would not have been such an odious chore."

Her head was beginning to throb again. Hermione had had enough. She limped over to where her briefcase sat in the corner of the deck, opened it, and dug through it until she found what she was looking for.

"Here is a registration form for your Insect Repellent," she said, thrusting the paper towards Snape. "Kindly complete it and send it in by owl. Do you have an owl?"

"I do, actually." Severus made no move to take the form.

"I'll leave it on your kitchen table," Hermione said stiffly, "and I will change back into my own clothes. Will you please take me back to the island so that I can Apparate home, or do I have to swim?"

Snape gestured toward the sliding door. "After you, Granger. It would be my pleasure."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6: Regrets**_

Hermione realized her error within seconds of Apparating to her apartment. Standing in the middle of the living room floor, she dropped her briefcase, covered her faced with her hands, and moaned aloud. Alma Hobbs would have her head on a platter.

The form she'd left with Snape - Official Canadian Wizarding Form 4062CA, Registration of Previously Unknown Substance, to be precise - was indeed intended for use in registering new potions. Unfortunately, she had failed to provide him with either the Chemical Composition Attachment, or the Consent to Verify Purity and Efficacy. While Hermione wanted to blame Snape for the oversight ("If he hadn't made me so angry, I might have remembered everything!"), she couldn't escape the fact that it was completely her fault.

She limped into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and turned on the shower. Standing under the beating hot water, surrounded by clouds of steam, Hermione finally allowed the tears of frustration to stream down her cheeks. The day had gone horribly, and she had the bumps and bruises to prove it. Snape had been decent enough - plucking her off the island, offering her fresh clothes, a hot shower, lunch - when he wasn't being completely foul and denigrating. It was probably a record of some sort, Hermione decided, that she was able to register several acts of kindness on his part. And they had managed to talk civilly to one another, although each brief rational exchange had deteriorated into sniping. After all, it was Severus Snape; what else could she expect?

Wearily leaning her head against the wet tiles, Hermione wished - not for the first time - that she could live someone's life other than her own. She despised her job, her boss, and the fact that she was wasting away in pointless, dead-end positions. But most of all, she hated being alone. Her parents were gone, and the family into which she'd married no longer welcomed her. She had acquaintances at the Patent Office, but no deep friendships ever managed to come of it. Of everyone on earth, Hermione could only count Harry Potter as a real friend, and he was half a world away in Britain. It was almost, she thought, like her first two months at Hogwarts, when it seemed that she would never belong - except that she'd been in this freefall for nearly five years now.

When the water began to cool, Hermione hauled herself reluctantly from the shower and toweled off. Even though it was only late afternoon, she pulled on her pajamas; she had no intentions of going out again for the rest of the day, and getting redressed for no good reason required too much effort in her current frame of mind. Hermione was cautiously pushing her injured left foot into a bedroom slipper when it occurred to her that Madam Hobbs was scheduled to be off for a few days - why, no one knew, since the woman had no personal life to speak of - and would not be in the office until Thursday. She brightened considerably at this thought. Not only would she be free of the finicky woman for a few days, she could also rectify today's error before Alma was any the wiser.

Taking a piece of stationery from her bureau, Hermione summoned a quill and some ink and composed a letter to Snape.

_Dear Mr. Snape:_

_Unfortunately, I neglected to leave all the necessary forms with you today. Would you please complete the two (2) attached forms and return them with the Registration of Unknown Substances form?_

_Thank you._

_H. J. Granger_

That done, Hermione hobbled to her apartment balcony in search of her owl, Minerva.

She received a reply the next morning. It was obvious from the slim roll of parchment that Minerva carried in her beak that Snape had not returned even the first form.

_Miss Granger:_

_I wish to discuss, in person, the matter of the forms you sent. I will lower my anti-Apparition wards for five minutes, beginning at four o'clock this afternoon._

_S.S._

Hermione tossed the parchment on the floor in disgust. Her entire weekend was being wasted by this business - not that she had anything better to do, but she wanted this assignment over and done with. She spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon shopping for groceries and cleaning her apartment as best she could with a sprained ankle. Precisely at four o'clock, Hermione clutched her briefcase to her chest and concentrated hard on the exterior of Snape's cabin. Immediately, the apartment vanished, and she found herself breathing the fresh, pine-scented air of the outdoors and blinking in the bright afternoon sun. Hermione glanced around and found that she had Apparated to a spot below the cabin's deck, just outside the cellar. The door was standing open.

"Mr. Snape?"

"In here, Granger."

The voice floated from the open doorway. She limped toward the door, taking care to avoid a misstep on the uneven ground. As soon as she stepped inside the doorway, Hermione was unable to see a thing, even though the cellar was lit by both candles and a single electric bulb; it seemed pitch black after the intense sunlight, and it took several seconds before her eyes began to make the adjustment.

The room Snape used for his workshop was small. Much of the space was taken up by three long tables arranged in a U-shape, and by rows of shelves against the back wall. At first count, Hermione spotted twelve cauldrons, only two of which appeared to be in use at the moment, along with an assortment of mortars and pestles scattered about. As potions labs went, it was tiny, rough, and barely adequate; still, Hermione thought, this was Snape's personal space, and she had no doubt that the man had arranged it to fit his own needs.

"Thank you for your promptness." Snape was perched on a stool at the far end of one of the tables.

"Thank _you _for lowering your wards. I wasn't looking forward to another canoe ride." Hermione put down her briefcase. "I'm very sorry to be causing you so much inconvenience this weekend," she added, although she was certain that the inconvenience was on her end, not his.

"Step all the way in, Granger. You're blocking the light."

Hermione bit back an impatient sigh and moved to the left. "You had questions about the remaining forms?"

"Yes."

"Did you want to discuss it here, or would you prefer to go upstairs?"

Severus shrugged. "We can discuss it here. I'm working on something, as you can see."

"Very well." Hermione put down her briefcase. "The first form that I left with you is simply a generic registration page. The next is the Chemical Composition page, which requires a listing of ingredients for the potion you wish to register along with a description of the brewing process. The third is the Consent to Verify, which gives professional brewers the opportunity to retest and verify your product."

"I could work that out for myself," Snape pointed out. "I want to know what happens after the forms sit on someone's desk for six months. Does my formula go up for bidding at auction, or am I free to contact any potions manufacturer I wish? And do I hold any liability prior to licensing of my product? I wouldn't want some half-wit trying to cook up a batch on his own and damaging himself in some fashion."

"Of course not," Hermione replied hastily. "I believe that the usual process is simply for the government to approve the product in terms of safety and purity, and then you are free to discuss marketing with anyone you wish."

"'You believe'?" Severus echoed.

"I usually work with Charms and Spells."

Snape turned his attention back to a row of flasks, which he began filling with a yellowish fluid. "Do you have any idea how many new potions are approved out of all that are submitted?"

"I believe -" Hermione began, then blushed and started over. "To the best of my knowledge, about fifty percent. Some are so close to existing potions that they are too indistinguishable to justify a new patent."

Severus grunted in response. Hermione waited to be peppered with more questions, but they failed to materialize; the man was busy working on whatever project required the flasks of yellowish liquid.

"Is that your insect repellant that you're brewing?" she inquired politely.

Another grunt.

Hermione waited another minute or so, her impatience building. "Do you have any more questions, Mr. Snape?"

"Yes, Granger, I do." Severus turned away from the workbench to regard her steadily, his arms crossed in front of him. "Why is it that you gave up working in Potions?"

She blinked, surprised at the abrupt change of topic. "Uh - "

"Would it," Snape continued, reaching for a Potions Journal that lay open on the bench, "have anything to do with this?"

Suddenly uneasy, Hermione took the journal from him and scanned the open page. An article entitled "_Dementia Research: Time to Revisit Past Failures?" _leapt out at her.

Master Brewer Thaddeus Hawkins of Barkhurst & Branch Pharmaceuticals, Ltd., spoke at a symposium last week on the deplorable lack of research in the field of potions used to treat elderly dementia. "The baby has been thrown out with the bath water," he declared at the annual meeting of the Greater European Brewers' Conglomerate. "Past failures - most notably, the one that occurred in Britain eight years ago (see article "Britain Halts Research After Human Tests Fail," June 2005) put a premature end to promising potions. The study, performed by J. D. Wellington, H. J. Granger, and B. C. Stanley, resulted in three deaths and one curious case of personality aberration -"

The past rose up to overwhelm her. Hermione drew in a ragged breath, feeling the blood drain from her face. The words on the page blurred, and when she looked up at Snape, he seemed oddly out of focus. With a gasp, she threw the journal at him and stumbled toward the cellar door.

Overwhelmed by the desire to run - and physically unable to do more than hobble - Hermione staggered away from the cabin and toward the lake. When her feet hit the dock, it swayed slightly, sending her off-balance and to her knees. The sharp pain indicated that she'd probably lost more skin or gained new bruises in the process, but Hermione didn't care. She crawled on all fours to the edge of the dock, groaned aloud, then vomited violently into the lake. When it seemed that there was nothing left in her stomach, she sank onto her side and lay there, breathing hard and sweating profusely.

The horrid, bloody study. Did they have to bring it up again? Couldn't they have simply let it languish in the files and grow dust?

Weakly, Hermione opened her eyes. The lake rippled quietly in front of her; a duck swam by, regarding her curiously. She didn't want to move, didn't want to go back and face Snape's questions. For what seemed an eternity, she lay huddled there, perfectly content to watch the sunlight dancing on the water, the birch trees and pines swaying gently. Then she felt the vibration of approaching footsteps, and knew it was time to face the music. Hermione started to sit up, all the while bracing for the barrage of insults she knew to be inevitable.

Snape knelt down beside her, placing a cup of tea on the dock before helping her to sit upright. "Here. Wipe your face off with this." With that, he handed her a wet washcloth.

Too surprised to speak, Hermione took the washcloth and did as instructed. Finally, after she had finished sponging her face and neck, Snape handed her the cup of tea.

"This will help," he said simply, and rose to go.

"Wait," she croaked, finding her voice at last. "Thank you. I don't know what to say -"

"You need not explain."

"If you'll just give me a few minutes to collect my thoughts, I - I -"

Severus shook his head. "It's all right, Granger. There's no need. But if you wish to talk, I would be happy to listen. I had no one to talk to but the lake. Odd as it sounds, the lake listened, and that helped."

Hermione blinked, stunned by this completely unexpected side of Severus Snape. Finally she nodded and murmured, "I would like to talk, thank you."

"I need to clean up some things in my workshop. Drink your tea, and then I will be back."

She nodded again. Footsteps faded as Snape left. Hermione readjusted her position so that she could sit more comfortably, and contemplated the apparent paradox that was Snape. For the first time, she could understand Brady Lawford's comment regarding Snape's personality. Severus Snape had to have experienced some sort of change for him to behave so cordially towards her. It was not an unwelcome discovery, yet she found the strangeness of it quite perplexing. There was no way the teacher she knew from Hogwarts would have treated her so kindly. Hermione was still pondering this when Snape returned five minutes later.

"How are you feeling?" He sank to a cross-legged sitting position a few feet away from her.

"Better," she admitted.

Snape snorted. "I'm glad that you did not say 'fine', because you would have been a liar through and through."

Hermione hesitated, then asked the question foremost in her mind. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

A look of amusement flickered behind Snape's eyes. "Would you prefer I treat you cruelly?"

"You would have, once upon a time." Honesty seemed the best policy.

He considered this. "You are quite correct about that. I don't hate you, Granger. What I hate are the memories that were dredged up when you showed up with Brady Lawford three days ago."

Hermione nodded, then gazed out across the lake, wondering where to start. "You don't have to listen to my woes, you know. If you'd rather not -"

"Granger, I am being nice to you because Lawford was nice to me, and without him, I wouldn't be here."

"You told Mr. Lawford about your past?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"Of course not, for obvious reasons. I am merely passing on the kindness he displayed by allowing me to take refuge here. As I said, I am happy to listen."

She hesitated once more, then finally, "You were correct in assuming that the H.J. Granger mentioned in the journal was me. Jack Wellington and Barrett Stanley had been working on a cure for dementia for quite some time, and I was fortunate enough to join their team. I wanted to, you see; I don't know if you knew, but Professor McGonagall - she began to suffer from dementia and had to step down as Headmistress some time ago..."

Snape shook his head. "I was not aware," he said softly. "I am very sorry to hear of it."

Hermione nodded, swallowed, resolutely plowed ahead. "It was all very cutting edge, everything was state-of-the-art research. About six months after I was hired, we had the potion ready for animal testing. That went without a hitch, and then it was time to move on to human testing."

"Which did not go so well."

"Actually, it did. We had quite good results with a number of patients who either suffered from natural dementia, or dementia as a result of memory spells. Unfortunately, several people died from liver failure, so our testing came under increased scrutiny."

"Liver damage is not an unknown side effect of an experimental potion," Severus pointed out.

"I know. But it was suggested - _I _suggested -" Hermione winced as she corrected herself, "- that we try it on a limited number of healthy individuals with no known liver disease to shore up our findings. That's when Ron volunteered."

Snape frowned. "Weasley died from your potion?"

"No." Blinking back sudden tears, she shook her head vehemently. "He was healthy, there should have been no problem."

"What happened?"

"He - I don't know if you recall the incident at the Department of Mysteries our fifth year?"

Severus grimaced. _Foolish, headstrong children..._ "I recall."

"Ron was - I don't know, injured somehow by a brain that attached itself to him. Physically, there were only welts on his skin afterwards. There didn't seem to be any other aftereffects." Hermione swallowed miserably. "After he took the test potion, he - he was different. It started with terrible mood swings. Then he'd occasionally forget names and places - noticeably, not just normal forgetfulness. Finally, he became psychotic, completely so. Out of touch with reality, regressed to a much earlier age -" She bit her lip nervously.

"And?"

"He's in St. Mungo's," Hermione mumbled, tears welling up and trickling down her cheeks now. "Totally incapacitated, totally incurable, according to the Healers."

"I see."

She looked up at Severus, desperation on her face. "Do you know what it's like to destroy somebody you love?"

Snape stiffened. With great effort, he bit back a dozen rude responses to state simply, "Yes. I do."

_Dumbledore._ Hermione wanted to kick herself across the lake and back again. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think -"

"Never mind, Granger." Severus inhaled deeply. The last thing he wanted was to drag his own ghosts of the past into the mix. "So Weasley remains in St. Mungo's?"

She nodded. "There's more, I'm afraid. Molly, she - she never forgave me. She wasn't pleased with me anyway, when I told Ron I didn't want to get married straight out of Hogwarts. I wanted to continue my education. Ron understood, but she couldn't see it. And then she wasn't happy when I chose to establish my career before becoming pregnant right away..."

It took little effort to imagine _that_. Snape waited patiently.

"I was so miserable after Ron - after it happened," Hermione continued. "I couldn't bear to stay in Potions, so I began working at the Ministry in Charms. And when Ron's condition never improved, it became harder and harder to visit him after a while. Eventually I was hardly going at all. I thought I'd try to take a holiday, so I came to Canada for a fortnight."

"You stayed?"

"No, not then. But it felt so good being away from everything that when I finally returned home, it was ten times worse. Molly assumed somehow that I'd come over here to look for a cure, and she raged on and on about how could I go off on holiday while her son was so ill, and why couldn't I find a way to help him."

"You had always helped him before," Severus observed astutely. "You were always the brains of your little trio."

A wave of anger swept over Hermione; denying Snape's accusation was an instinctive response. But just as quickly, the anger fled when she realized that what he said was, after all, true.

"I can't help him this time," she agreed dully. "Only Arthur could see that, and Harry, and strangely enough, Percy. They suggested..." Hermione paused, then, "...they suggested that I divorce Ron and get on with life. I was appalled at first, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. The rest of the family - Molly and Ginny, in particular - have hated me ever since."

"So you divorced him," Severus said softly.

"Yes. I divorced him. And I came here to try to start a new life."

"And have you been successful?"

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "No," she whispered.

Snape was silent for several minutes, allowing Hermione to cry quietly. He had usually gone out of his way to avoid any sobbing Slytherins during his time as Head of House; feminine displays of despair failed to impress him much. But unlike other women might have done, Granger had not attempted to beg for his sympathy or ask him to hold her, to comfort her. He could easily picture her being ostracized by the Weasleys for being unable to come up with the right answer just when it mattered the most. And he was sure that she had felt the pressure to achieve so much for so long that choosing lesser paths created its own kind of stress. Severus did not give much credence to what he generally regarded as psychiatric nonsense, but it was clear that Hermione was suffering. From his own emotional anguish over the years, he had learned that what was needed was the opportunity to express one's concerns and then deal with them, given sufficient time and space.

"I will bring you more tea," he said, rising from his spot on the dock. "Please feel free to stay there as long as you like."

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement, still lost in her own miseries.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7: The Windigo**_

Severus gathered up the fishing pole and the tackle box, glancing once more out the wide glass doors to the lake beyond. Granger was still on the dock, showing absolutely no inclination to come inside. For the past hour, she'd been alternately sitting, pacing, and throwing stones in the water with extreme vehemence. Snape was reluctant to disturb her, yet he was in the mood for fish for supper, and he suspected that he'd be feeding a mouth other than his own tonight. He ambled down to the dock, making enough noise for Granger hear him coming.

"You don't mind sharing the dock, so you, Granger?" he demanded as he came up behind her.

Hermione, by now sitting cross-legged and hugging her knees to her, just stared at him in open amazement. "_You_ fish? Like a Muggle?"

Severus put down the tackle box, opened it, and rummaged around for something to use as bait. "I learned from Lawford," he answered with a shrug.

"But all you need to do is wave your wand and say '_Accio fish'_ and you'd have them jumping out of the water at you."

"Precisely, which is why I prefer to go about it in the Muggle fashion. I do not need a bushel of fish to feed two people."

Hermione caught the implication at once; her cheeks flushed pink, and she started to rise. "I didn't mean to stay this long. You needn't feed me dinner."

"I know I needn't. Sit down and shut up, or you'll scare the fish away."

She sat back down at once, eyeing Snape as he laced a shiny black rubber worm onto the hook. He took out his wand, waved it at the worm, and muttered "_Odorus Hirudonae"_, then cast the line out into the lake.

"What sort of spell was that?" Hermione asked. "I'm not familiar with it."

"It was one of my own making. Literally, it means 'smell of a leech'. The fish here are quite fond of leeches."

"Why don't you just use a real leech?"

"Because I save the real leeches for my potions."

"Oh." She contemplated this. "You use leeches in your insect repelling potion?"

"No. I use leeches in some of my experimental potions."

"'Experimental potions?'" Hermione repeated warily.

"I have several. Currently, I'm working on a tonic which, when applied to Dalley's Marrow, will decrease the blight which occurs with annoying regularity. As I'm sure you're aware, prices for circulation stimulants have gone through the roof as a result of poor Marrow yields." Snape reeled in the line slowly. He glanced in Hermione's direction to find her staring at him. "Or perhaps you assumed that I was dabbling in the Dark Arts once more?"

"I didn't think - I mean, that's great," she stammered. "I know there have always been problems producing enough Marrow. I didn't expect you to be working on something so - "

"- humanitarian?" Severus finished for her. He set the reel and cast the line out once more. "This may come as a surprise to you, Granger, but I have a list of projects a mile long that will take me years to complete. They're things I've always wanted to do, but I never had the time while I was teaching."

"Can I ask you something?"

Snape shot her an appraising look, then returned his attention to his fishing line. "Nothing's prevented you from asking questions before."

Hermione blushed once more. "I just wondered... Why, since you obviously enjoy Potions so much, were you so eager to teach Defense at Hogwarts?"

"Why did you go on to get a Masters' Level Certificate in Charms after you'd already obtained one in Potions?"

"Because I liked the subject just as much Potions."

"There you are then. Unless, of course, you prefer the generally accepted belief that I was desperate to indoctrinate children into Dark Magic and turn their allegiance to Voldemort."

Severus Snape had made a joke. Furthermore, it was a joke that managed to poke fun at himself. The world must truly be coming to an end, Hermione thought, unless she was imagining the entire day. Snape, she noticed, was now casting her suspicious glances.

"What is it? Have I grown three heads?"

"No. It's just that you seem to have developed a sense of humor."

"Which means you're either frightened or shocked speechless by this turn of events. Which is it, Granger?"

"Neither. It's - uh - rather becoming, actually. Perhaps Mr. Lawford was correct about you after all."

"Oh? In what way? That I can easily best him at poker?"

What to say? That Severus Snape was quite possibly a decent soul after all? Hermione was spared from making the observation when a tug on Snape's line diverted his efforts into reeling in his catch.

"There's one," he muttered moments later, hauling a fair-sized Northern Pike onto the dock.

She watched as he deftly removed the hook from the fish's mouth, cast the leech odor spell once more, and sent the line spiraling back out into the water. "You're very good at that. My father loved to fish, although it certainly took him a lot longer to catch anything."

"Fishing has a certain charm, if you have the time to devote to it."

"Dad tried to take a week off from the clinic each year, just to do nothing but fish. It drove Mum mad, because she wasn't the outdoors type. Actually," Hermione said, smiling at the memory, "Dad wasn't very good at fishing. But he thought he was." She sobered then, studying the ripples of water fanning out across the lake. "There's something else I would like to ask you."

Severus sighed. "Granger, were you, by any chance, born with a question on your lips?"

She failed to be amused this time. "It's something I've wondered, ever since my parents were killed -"

"Your parents were killed by Death Eaters," Snape intoned flatly, "and you want to know if I had any hand in it."

It occurred to Hermione to wonder if the man had just used Legilimency. Her parents had been casualties of the wizarding war during her final year at Hogwarts, prime targets due to their daughter's intellectual prowess, Muggle genes, and close friendship with Harry Potter. The initial report, pieced together by Aurors at war's end, had indicated that the raid on Hermione's home had been led by someone named Baldwin, but that hadn't stopped her from wondering if Snape had perhaps encouraged him along the way. _The Mudblood's parents, Baldwin... Do cast a Cruciatus on my behalf, won't you?_

She nodded mutely, pushing her memories back into the dark hole in which she kept them.

Severus shook his head. "You know the answer from my trial. I was in hiding, Granger. I was not in a position to go about flaunting my presence on raids in Muggle communities."

"Of course." Hermione was almost ashamed for having voiced the question. She _had_ known the answer, but the niggling doubts of fifteen years' reflection made her ask.

He checked the fishing line, then turned back to her. "If it's any comfort to you, I do know that when they - the Death Eaters - went out on a raid, most had no idea where they were going or who was involved. One or more Portkeys were used to get there, and each person would Apparate out individually."

"I see."

"I didn't kill your parents, Hermione," Snape added softly.

"I know. I mean, I heard - " She swallowed hard. "Thank you for your honesty."

Just then, Severus felt another tug on the fishing line. After a brief struggle, he reeled in the second Northern Pike, which was slightly larger than the first.

"Dinner," he announced, holding up the madly wriggling catch and the now-still first fish.

"You don't have to feed me, you know. I should be going."

"You had other plans for this evening?" Snape arched an eyebrow.

"No, but -"

"If you're concerned about my cooking skills, might I point out that I'm still alive after all these years?"

A kinder, more humorous Severus Snape. Hermione gave up trying to sort through the earth-shaking transformation. "I'd be delighted to share your dinner," she said, conceding defeat.

"I'll let you know when the food is ready. And if I were you, I'd try some of the Insect Repelling Potion, unless you want to be eaten alive. The blackflies are most active this time of day." With that, Severus headed back up to the cabin.

While catching fish the Muggle way was a pleasant diversion, cleaning the fish was not. Snape had watched Lawford scraping scales and wielding the filet knife only once before deciding that some things were best left to magic. A few brief flicks of the wand were enough to render the two fish ready to cook.

Starting a fire in what Lawford called a Weber kettle was also a tedious task when done in Muggle fashion. Severus had the Northern Pike blackening on the hot grill a mere ten minutes after returning to the cabin; the only reason it had taken that long was because he'd paused to make a salad along the way. He was about to tell Hermione that dinner was ready when she came bursting into the cabin, limping and swatting at her head and back.

"They're after me!" she wailed, flailing her arms about her head. "A swarm of flies! They chased me all the way from the dock!"

Severus sighed, quickly dispatching three black flies with his wand. "It was hardly a swarm. There were only three."

"There were more, I know there were," Hermione protested.

"Wash up and sit down at the table, Granger. Dinner is ready."

Hermione hobbled into the bathroom and washed her face and hands, pausing long enough to peer at a handful of insect bites newly arisen on her neck. "Those things are vicious," she muttered as she made her way to the table.

Snape took a seat across from her. "Have you never heard of the Windigo?"

"No. What's that?"

"There are many old Indian legends up here, and one tells the story of the Windigo. Many years ago - many moons, as they would say - the people of the forest tribe began to disappear whenever they wandered away from camp. A little girl, who was very frightened at this turn of events, asked her grandfather what could be responsible for the disappearances, and he told her that it was the Windigo - an evil spirit who could assume the shape of trees, rocks, anything that might be found in the forest. Eventually, she came up with a plan to lure the Windigo into a deep pit and kill it. The plan was successful, and after the creature was caught, each villager contributed a burning coal to throw into the pit, to burn the creature alive. As it was dying, the Windigo vowed to return again and again to take its revenge. And then it burned to a fine ash, and blew away on the breeze.

"The villagers were overjoyed, because the Windigo was gone. But the following summer, its ashes returned, and whenever they alit on someone, they stung and burned and left a small red mark. Therefore, the Windigo _did _achieve its revenge."

"The blackflies!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Precisely." Snape pushed a bowl of wild rice toward her. "Help yourself."

The simple meal of wild rice and Northern Pike was delicious, Hermione discovered. It was a very long time since lunch - in fact, she could barely remember the early part of the day, because it seemed like a lifetime ago. While she ate, Severus talked about his potions projects, and Hermione found herself actually respecting the man. In addition, she felt a strange sort of comfort in this cabin and in his company, and the revelation was startling.

"Is something wrong?" Snape sensed that he'd lost her attention.

"No, not at all. It's just that you -" she hunted for the right words "- seem to fit so well in this setting."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You belong here." Hermione gestured toward the lake, which lay still as glass in the waning light of day. "It's as if you were meant to be here. Especially hearing you talk of the Indian legends." Color rose in her cheeks. "When I saw you coming out of the fog yesterday morning, it seemed almost as if you were an Ojibwa brave - your long dark hair over your shoulders, paddling your birch bark canoe."

Severus nearly choked on a mouthful of fish. "Can you be any more fanciful, Granger?"

She grinned. "Of course, once I saw that the canoe was aluminum, the illusion ended rather abruptly."

Snape's shoulders heaved with laughter. "Merlin's beard," he muttered, covering his mouth with a napkin. "I should have left you out there."

"Does the lake have healing qualities? Mr. Lawford told me that the Ojibwa believe that to be so."

"As do I. The Indians, in fact, have a great affinity for natural magic."

"Natural magic?" Hermione questioned.

"Perhaps magic is the wrong word. It's not magic as you or I understand it, but a strong connection to the earth and to nature. The idea of potions, for example, is not something new or foreign to them. They have long brewed a variety of tonics and cures, and the ingredients tend to be similar."

"I see," she said thoughtfully. "Do you suppose anyone - any witch or wizard, that is - has ever done a study to compare the two?"

"You're the one employed by the Canadian Ministry," Severus pointed out. "I should think it would be rather easy to find the answer."

"Hmm." Hermione took a sip of the wine Snape had provided with dinner. Such a study _would _be interesting; for the first time in years, her brain cells perked up at the idea of something worth learning. By the time dinner was over, she was actually looking forward to going to work the next morning.

She offered to stay and help Snape with the dishes; it was mere formality, because doing dishes by magic took almost no time, and Hermione doubted that the man's enthusiasm for Muggle fishing extended to Muggle housework as well. As expected, Severus brushed off the suggestion at once.

"I need to get home, I suppose," she said, feeling suddenly awkward and shy. "I can't thank you enough for the dinner and - and everything, -"

Snape shrugged. "It was nothing. I was glad for the company."

Somehow it felt like more should be said, but Hermione had no idea what to say, nor did she know how Severus Snape would react to a flood of compliments from her. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, "May I Apparate now?"

"Of course. The wards were down all afternoon. You could have left any time you wished."

Which meant what? Hermione merely nodded and smiled. "Thank you again."

With a crack, she Disapparated.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8: Wanting to Go Back**_

Hermione was unusually cheerful when she Apparated to work the next day, a far cry from her typical Monday morning demeanor. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in such a good mood, and she found this somewhat alarming; it was only by comparing today's frame of mind with her usual disposition that she could see just how unhappy she had been.

The cause of today's contentment could be partially traced to Madam Hobbs' absence. Hermione didn't know if any of her coworkers could sense the difference, but she fancied that the atmosphere in the office was considerably less oppressive than usual. At once she thought of Snape in his solitary cabin in the woods, working on whatever project caught his imagination at the moment, no longer needing to meet the demands of an unreasonable supervisor. Hermione sat at her desk, sipping her morning coffee and suffering unmistakable pangs of jealousy. Snape... It still amazed her that it was possible to find Severus Snape's company pleasant. Those few hours late Sunday afternoon, minus the gut-wrenching disclosures about her past, were a good deal more than tolerable, and Hermione wondered what Harry would say if he knew.

The other reason for her good mood was the pleasant prospect of doing a bit of research into the Ojibwa 'natural magic' that Snape had mentioned. It was a very long time since an absorbing, challenging research project had caught Hermione's attention, and she reveled in the anticipation that she now felt. With Alma gone, she decided to throw caution to the winds and put off anything but the most pressing work in order to begin her research. Reaching into her briefcase, Hermione immediately encountered the now-completed patent application forms signed by 'Sebastian Snow' lying right on top. Pulling them out, she stared at them while her good humor deflated like an old balloon.

There was no longer any reason to return to Snape's cabin on the lake. And going back to the lake immediately became the thing Hermione wanted to do most.

Not because she missed Snape, of course. True, the man could grill a pretty good Northern Pike and act as a surprisingly good listener. What Hermione longed to do was to sit on the dock and watch the ducks and the loons, listen to the lap of the water, smell the clean scent of pine. She even wanted to release her nuggets of anger once more and face them head on, difficult though that was. The peaceful setting was, for lack of a better word, soothing, and all Hermione could puzzle out just now was that what _wasn't _at the cabin was just as important as the beautiful setting: people sitting in judgment on her, making demands of her time and her talents, disturbing the present with constant laments about the past. She remembered what Snape had said about talking to the lake, and found that she could easily picture him hurling rocks into the water and screaming epithets to the trees. Three years, he'd told her, three years to rid himself of his past demons. Hermione wondered how long would it take for her. How many years until she was no longer haunted by images of angry Weasleys? Of her parents, murdered because their daughter was a brilliant witch? Of Ron, listlessly milling about the ward at St. Mungo's and asking her for the tenth time each visit why she was there?

Hermione immediately discarded the idea of attempting any official work at all. She finished her coffee and headed for the Claude de la Baguette Memorial Reference Library, the Canadian Wizarding Government's vast repository of research. She'd been there once before, on her first visit to Canada. This time, her aim was to learn if anyone had studied the magical attributes of the Native Americans. And if she managed to forget her life in Britain as well as the lure of Snape's cabin, so much the better.

Hermione spent a satisfying day curled up in the recesses of what was familiarly known as 'the Claude' to the Wizarding government. The massive research institute was located in an aging building which was cavernous, drafty and dark, and generally unappealing. Still, there were comfortable chairs, broad desks, and a liberal sprinkling of perpetually-brewing teapots throughout the place. Hermione located half a dozen promising texts and settled in to read. What she discovered, fascinated her.

The nearest the Ojibwa came to anything similar to the magic Hermione knew was in the realm of healing. A secret group called the Midéwiwin - the Great Medicine Society - believed that healing was the highest calling, involving healing of both body and mind. They were devoted to Manitou and to guarding the knowledge of medicine. There were eight ranks in the group, but only those who had achieved the fourth level and above were allowed to attend to the ill. Each carried a Midé bag, made usually of otter pelt (Hermione grimaced at this, thinking of her Patronus), which held herbs, charms, and sacred white shells used in healing. The shells themselves were something of a mystery, she learned; they were found only in the south Pacific, and how the Ojibwa of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries had come by them, was unknown.

But in the end, Hermione was still half in the dark. The few researchers who had studied the Ojibwa healers had not even bothered to document which herbs were used. It was a clear parallel to Potions, she thought, and immediately wondered what Snape knew about it. Or was he even aware of the Midéwiwin? Hermione decided that she would owl him at her first opportunity and ask.

Her first opportunity came that evening. She scrawled out her findings on a parchment and sent Minerva winging away north. When Hermione awoke the next morning, Minerva was waiting patiently on the balcony with a response.

_Granger, every school child in Canada knows that information. It took you a day to figure that out?_

Ordinarily, Hermione would have been annoyed by the sarcasm. Instead, she took it as a personal challenge. She grabbed a quill and sent off a reply:

_As you well know, Snape, I was never a child in Canada. Spending eight hours of delightful, stimulating research at the Claude can hardly be classified as a wasted day. And are you aware that no wizard has ever attempted to study the herbs the healers use?_

Hermione was already at work when Minerva appeared at the Government Owlery with a reply.

_Let me guess: you intend to be the first? It's been tried before. The Ojibwa do not care to share their secrets. And speaking of secrets, have you already handed in the forms to register my insect repellant? I expect the Potions manufacturers to be beating a path to my door at any moment._

She couldn't resist sending another message:

_Yes, I handed them in. And I hope the manufacturers have the foresight to bring their own canoes._

It was with a surge of exhilaration that Hermione sent off her final missive. She and Snape were actually engaging in humorous banter, another first that was hardly to be believed. Her good mood persisted, carrying her through the remainder of the workday as well as the piles of paper on her desk.

For that reason, it was a rude awakening on Wednesday morning when Hermione came into the office and found that Madam Hobbs was back a day early. She tried to pretend that it didn't matter, but the usual pervasive gloom in the patent office had returned with a vengeance. On top of that, Hobbs insisted on meeting with her staff all morning, which meant that by lunchtime, Hermione had a pounding headache. She picked at her lunch and finally decided to ask for permission to leave early.

"If you must," Alma sniffed, looking personally affronted by the request. "By the way, Granger, I see you finally convinced Mr. Snow of the error of his ways. Good work."

Hermione suddenly felt her sympathies swing one-hundred and eighty degrees towards Snape. She could understand now why he'd been unwilling to become entangled with the government, and while she was only doing her job, there was a niggling little voice in her head telling her that she was guilty of doing it far too effectively. On the other hand, Hermione told herself, if she hadn't been following Alma Hobbs' orders in the first place, she would never have discovered the lake.

The lake. Hermione wished she was there, sitting in the sun and watching the loons. Thoroughly depressed, she went home, took a long bath, and crawled into bed. She was awakened in the late afternoon by a tapping at her balcony door. A handsome barred owl was fluttering back and forth in front of the door, ignoring a sleepy Minerva's disgusted glances. Hermione slid the door open, and the strange owl fluttered inside at once.

"Hello there. Who are you?" She untied the message and began to read, while the bird pecked patiently at its feathers.

_Granger, if you feel the need to revisit the lake for a bit of solitude, please let me know. You may send a reply back with Manitou._

Hermione had to wonder if she were still asleep. Was it possible that Snape would actually allow her to return? Her excitement mounting, she nearly ran for a quill and parchment. She wanted to write 'Now, right now!', but managed to contain her enthusiasm.

_I would be very grateful for the opportunity to revisit the lake, as I found it quite therapeutic. When would be convenient for you?_

Watching Manitou soar off into the sky with her response, Hermione hoped that Snape's idea of convenient meant soon.

Saturday morning, Hermione Apparated to the outside of Snape's cabin, her arms laden with food. Snape met her at the door, and immediately, a puzzled expression spread over his face.

"Are you afraid that you'll starve up here, Granger?"

She ignored the fact that he hadn't even said hello. "I thought that I'd try to repay your hospitality of last weekend," Hermione said, struggling through the doorway to deposit her bags on the kitchen counter. "I went to the bakery this morning, and everything looked so delicious, I bought quite a variety: an apricot stollen, a chocolate cake, a loaf of wheat bread, some biscuits…"

Snape forced a polite expression onto his face. "Thank you. It was thoughtful of you, but not necessary."

"You're welcome." He seemed less than enthused, which caused Hermione to wonder if Snape ate sweets at all. She wished now that she hadn't succumbed to the urge to buy everything in sight at the bakery, but the damage had been done.

"I will be downstairs in my laboratory this morning. You may feel free to do whatever you wish." Severus started out the door, then added, "I will be Apparating to Trapper's Bay this afternoon."

"Could I go along? I might be able to find out more about the Midéwiwin."

Snape scowled. "The Ojibwa are not waiting with bated breath to share their mysteries with you, Granger."

"But –"

"The Midéwiwin are a _secret_ society. Is there something about the word that you do not understand?"

"I will not badger, harass, annoy, or do anything which could lead to cultural chaos," Hermione said primly, draping one hand dramatically across her heart. "Nor will I embarrass you, if that's what you're worried about."

It was probably useless to argue. "Fine. You may go along if you wish."

As Severus settled into the cellar to start a fresh batch of Pepper-Up Potion, he hoped that the brief visit to Trapper's Bay would satisfy enough of Hermione Granger's curiosity to keep her quiet and out of his hair. Long experience with her enthusiasm for research told him that she would spend considerable time badgering him with questions, time he would sooner spend concentrating on his work. One visit to town would show the ever-nosy Granger that the Ojibwa could not care less about broadcasting their knowledge of natural cures with her.

From time to time, Snape had peeked out the door to see what the woman was up to. For a while, she sat cross-legged on the dock, apparently doing some sort of meditation exercise. Then, the clunk of the paddle against the aluminum canoe told him that she had taken the boat out onto the lake. Canoeing was an enjoyable way to spend the time, although it could be quite tiring. Severus never failed to use magic for propulsion whenever his arms tired, and he felt sorry for the Muggle explorers who'd had nothing but their own brute strength when they explored this wilderness. If Granger had any sense at all, she'd start using her wand early; the lake was a great deal bigger once you were out there in a canoe.

He was still not quite sure why he'd invited the know-it-all back, except that he knew exactly how the lake acted as a balm to the wounded soul. It was not in his nature to endorse coddling, or to go out of his way to be considerate. But last weekend's brief stint as Hermione Granger's benevolent benefactor had awakened something in Snape beyond a desire to pass on the many kindnesses shown him by Brady Lawford and Albus Dumbledore. It had occurred to him that, for the first time in thirteen years, he actually enjoyed being in the presence of another wizard – albeit, in this case, a witch. Not only did Severus have no need to pretend that he was a Muggle, Granger seemed to understand something of what he'd been through.

On the other hand, he could be setting a dangerous precedent. Retreating from the civilized world – if you could truly call it civilized, Severus thought with a snort – was an addictive thing. He might end up with Granger on the doorstep every weekend, if her enthusiasm at being back here today was any indication. The thought of Hermione Granger appearing on his doorstep with a bag of baked goods every Saturday morning was appalling, if only for the amount of fat and sugar involved. Still, it was unlikely that she could tolerate his personality enough to carry on like this on a weekly basis.

At noon, Snape left his potion over a guarded flame and went to find Granger. She was back on the dock, dangling her legs over the side and munching on one of her biscuits.

"Are you ready to leave?" he wanted to know.

"Yes, any time you're ready." Hastily, Hermione popped the final bit of biscuit into her mouth and climbed to her feet.

She had been crying, Severus noted. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine." She pasted a defiant smile on her face.

"Is there anything you wish to take with you to town?" He had a hunch that women never went shopping without certain items, although he wasn't too sure what they were.

"No. I'm ready whenever you are."

"Very well. Meet me in front of the cabin in five minutes."

**A/N:** 'Baguette' means 'wand', although I can't help but think of bread!


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9: Going to Town**_

They Apparated to a spot a mile outside of Trapper's Landing, just off the gravel road that led from town to the cabin. A large pine tree stood nearby, its trunk bent at nearly a right angle by strong northerly winds; this was the landmark he used to orient himself, Snape told Hermione. And then he began to walk briskly toward the road while Hermione scrambled behind him.

"Not so fast," she complained. "My ankle's still not a hundred percent."

"Come on, Granger. I don't have all day." Snape strode up a short embankment and waited impatiently for Hermione to catch up.

"Really?" Hermione said dryly, pushing her way through the underbrush. "Do you have a pressing engagement elsewhere?"

Severus glared at her, but grudgingly reached down to help her up the final few feet. Once Hermione had joined him on the road, they walked eastward toward the town.

"Before you ask," Snape said, "I Apparate this far out of town for several reasons. First, it's well away from anyone who might see or hear me, and second, there are several stands of various useful plants along the way – agrimony and bladder campion, in particular."

"I see." It made sense. Hermione had wondered about Snape's botanical sources; while some ingredients were so unusual that they were only available at specialty stores, most plants could be obtained much more easily. "Is that what the bag's for?" she asked, pointing to a tote bag he had slung over one shoulder.

"Partially," Severus said, making no attempt to explain it further. He added almost as an afterthought, "There are also some rather good wild berry patches about."

"Berries?" She cast her mind about, trying to think what potions typically used berries. Most did not, as the sweetness of the berry generally canceled out the effect of the potion.

"Berries." Snape frowned in annoyance. "Food."

Hermione kept a straight face. "Of course." While the new Snape was far easier to deal with than the original version, she was finding it a constant guessing game to wonder which Snape would appear next.

Within twenty minutes, they had left the gravel behind and were walking on paved road. Severus pointed out the buildings which comprised Trapper's Bay: a general store and gas station, a church, a small school, a town hall. A medical clinic was obvious by the red cross on its door, and stood on the shore of a large lake. Several pothole-ridden streets, lined with frame houses, spread away from the lake; with no traffic in sight, children freely ran about in play.

"Is this it?" Hermione asked, earning a disparaging look from Snape.

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "It's rather basic, isn't it?"

"_Life_ up here is rather basic."

That silenced her, along with the sound of someone hailing Snape from outside the store.

"Snow!" A portly, middle-aged woman with long dark hair waved him over. "What are you doing back? I didn't expect to see you so soon."

"I need some flour, Neola," Severus told her.

Neola's eyes darted to Hermione and she looked back at Snape questioningly. "Snow, congratulations! You have a woman?"

The lines around Snape's mouth became progressively deeper. "A former pupil of mine. And a professional colleague."

Hermione, mildly impressed that Snape acknowledged her as more than the know-it-all Gryffindor, blushed a deep red. She took the initiative by stepping forward and offering her hand. "How do you do? I'm Hermione Granger."

The woman took her hand tentatively. "Boozhoo," she said. "Are you familiar with Ojibwa?"

"I'm afraid not."

"'Boozhoo' means 'hello'."

It was a little like water under the bridge, but Hermione tried out the word on her tongue anyway. "Boozhoo."

"Not bad." Neola gave Hermione another appraising look and turned around, tromping back up the steps into the store. "Come on in. Business is slow today. Had some fishermen in earlier, but it's been quiet ever since."

Hermione trailed behind Snape, her eyes widening as they entered the store. This truly was a general store from years gone by, from the well-worn wooden plank floor to the pot-bellied stove sitting in the middle of the room. There were only three display aisles in the place, and food accounted for one of them; the rest were taken up with fishing gear, household supplies, and a smattering of clothing. It wasn't until seeing this, presumably the only source of supplies for miles around, that Hermione realized just how remote Trapper's Landing was.

She busied herself by looking around at the varied assortment of goods on the shelves while Snape conducted his business. Once, she caught sight of him giving Neola something from the sack, and wondered about it, but then a booklet entitled _Way of the Healers: The Midéwiwin _caught Hermione's eye and she began to read. There was, she found, no information in the booklet that she hadn't already found at the Claude.

A shadow fell across the page and Hermione glanced up to find Snape standing in front of her.

"Do you wish to look around any further?" he asked. "I've finished my business."

Hermione replaced the booklet at once. "This is a rather fascinating place, isn't it? Everything you need all in one spot."

Neola was watching her from behind the counter. "Everything. My ngwis even cuts hair in the back room if you ever need it."

Hermione had no idea what a ngwis was, but her hand automatically went to her mass of curls as if to protect them. "Thank you," she said faintly. "Not today."

"Miss Granger is interested in the Midéwiwin," Severus said.

Neola snorted. "As are many whites. Always someone is looking for a magic cure. Do you make the potions also, Miss Hermione Granger?"

"Yes." She wondered if this might elevate her somewhat in Neola's eyes, but Hermione could tell nothing: the woman remained impassive.

With that, Neola's reserve slipped and she grinned broadly. "Snow makes good medicine. You'd have to go a ways to beat him."

Hermione managed a pained smile. Snape, meanwhile, had taken her elbow and was steering her toward the door.

"Mii-gwetch, Neola," Severus said, nodding at the proprietor.

"Any time, Sebastian. Bingo tonight at the hall, if you're interested." Neola doubled over in laughter.

"Why was she laughing about the bingo game?" Hermione asked, as soon as the door had closed behind them.

"It's a long-standing joke. Neola always invites me to the weekly bingo game."

"Have you ever gone?"

Snape looked utterly exasperated. "What do you think, Granger?"

The idea of Snape leaping from his seat to shout out 'Bingo!' was so absurd that Hermione burst out laughing. "I think she understands you quite well!"

"I'll have you know that I _did _go one time."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. It was a ridiculous game, and the place reeked of tobacco smoke."

"I just can't picture you playing bingo. If only Professor –" Hermione bit her lip.

"What?"

"I was just thinking what Professor McGonagall would have said if she could have seen you there," Hermione lied, turning away. The words _If only Professor Dumbledore could have seen you _had been poised on her lips.

"Mr. Snow!" A child's voice interrupted them. Severus stopped in mid-stride to find a boy of eight or nine running toward him.

"Daniel. How are you?"

"Better." The boy glanced over his shoulder to where his friends were waiting with a football. "My nmisenh told me that I should thank you the next time I saw you. So thank you!"

With that, the child ran off again.

"'Nmisenh'?" Hermione echoed, feeling that she'd just murdered the Ojibwa language.

"It means 'sister'."

"You're quite conversant in Ojibwa, aren't you?"

"Not at all. I only know a few words and phrases." Snape shrugged off the question.

It was then that Hermione made it past the language detour to realize what else the boy had said. He had made a point of stopping Snape to thank him for something, and suddenly she recalled the tote bag and Neola asking if she made potions also. She stopped dead in her tracks.

"You're giving these people potions!" she said in a strangled sort of voice.

"I do not give these people potions, Granger," he retorted, walking steadily onward.

"But -"

Severus turned to scowl at her. "I barter with the Ojibwa," he said flatly. "I give them minor potions in exchange for food. How do you think I manage to obtain food up here?"

Hermione felt every law-abiding nerve in her body cringe. "That's – illegal," she managed. "They're Muggles!"

"Excellent observation, Granger. No wonder your NEWT's were through the enchanted Hogwarts ceiling when you finally got around to taking them!"

"How did you know my NEWT's were that high?" she demanded hotly.

"I didn't. I would have expected no less of you."

Hermione scurried to catch up with Snape. "That's all beside the point. You're not allowed to provide Muggles with magical potions. When you were certified, when you attained your Master status, you swore to -"

"- limit distribution of magical potions to the wizarding populace only. Yes, I know. Perhaps you thought I'd forgotten that point?" He spat out the words.

"Well? Have you?" Hermione stood her ground.

"We will not discuss this here." Severus strode past her, his expression grim. "Perhaps _you've_ forgotten the Statute of Secrecy? Or did you just want to round up the residents and tell everyone?"

Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath, at the same time falling into step beside him. "Don't tell me that the laws don't apply to you," she muttered indignantly.

"Of course the laws apply to me. It was never an issue until Lawford allowed that blasted insect repellant to get away from him."

"I saw you hand that vial to Neola at the store. You weren't exactly being secretive about it."

"No. I wasn't."

"Do they know that you're giving them magical potions?" Hermione demanded.

"They're Ojibwa, Granger. That's their idea of medicine." Severus glared at her. "As I said, I barter with minor Class A potions only. No one's ever sickened or died from anything I've ever given -"

He broke off when it occurred to him that Hermione's eyes had suddenly glazed over. Still, the impact of his words didn't register with Snape until the woman had turned her back on him and was storming toward the road.

Severus cursed inwardly: Weasley. He had not tried to draw any comparisons, yet the idiot woman assumed that was his intention. He followed behind Hermione, wondering if her ankle was going to tolerate her furious pace. And it didn't, of course; by the time they neared the bent pine tree, Hermione's limp was more pronounced that it had been all day.

"Granger, are you ready to slow down yet?"

Hermione cast him a filthy look. "Why should I? That was completely cruel!"

"And completely unintended," he pointed out.

"Right. Just as you saw no difference when Malfoy made my teeth grow!"

What in the world was she babbling on about? Snape could not recollect anything to do with teeth, other than a vague notion that her parents had been Muggle dental healers. He did remember, however, exactly why he had never bothered to become involved with females on a personal level. They were infuriating, illogical, and completely irrational, and Severus was seriously regretting his gesture of inviting her back to the cabin.

Just as the bent pine came into view, there was a crashing in the woods to their right. Hermione stopped dead in her tracks just as an enormous moose ambled out of the brush in front of her and clambered up onto the road. The creature, which bested her height by a good three feet, regarded her in annoyance, and then turned to trot down the gravel road in the direction of the cabin.

The moose's appearance gave Severus enough time to catch up with Hermione. She was, he noted, rooted to the spot, her eyes huge.

"They like to travel the roads," he said.

"Moose like to travel on the roads?" Hermione echoed faintly.

"It's because they're such large animals. It's easier, you see."

"Is it going all the way to the cabin?"

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not."

Severus took Hermione's elbow to help her down the embankment. This time, he noted, she didn't resist. When they arrived at the bent pine, he said, "Granger, I did not intend to draw any similarities between what I've done and what happened to Weasley. I spoke without thinking."

Hermione nodded mutely.

They Apparated to the cabin. Snape returned to his work in the cellar, while Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon on the dock, apparently disinterested in talking with him further. It wasn't until four o'clock that she knocked at the cellar door.

"I should be going," she said simply. "Thank you for inviting me back."

Severus slid off his stool. "You're welcome."

"I just wanted you to know - I won't be reporting you."

"Reporting me?" For a moment, Snape couldn't think what she meant. "Oh. The potions I use for barter."

"It's – none of my business," Hermione said, gnawing nervously at a spot on her lower lip. "As you said, things are different up here."

He was tempted to make a snide comment, but chose to let the opportunity pass him by. "The arrangement benefits everyone. I'm not a monster, Granger. "

"I know."

"Are you finding your time here beneficial?"

"Yes." She paused, and then blurted, "May I come back tomorrow?"

It was the moment of truth. Severus knew it without a doubt. Say no, and Granger would gradually ooze away, back to the real world; he'd likely never hear from her again. Say yes, and she would be back tomorrow and next weekend, and the weekend after that, in search of the indefinable peace he had found. The old Snape would have dismissed her without so much as a backward glance. The new Snape?

"Yes," he said quietly. "You may."

"Thank you." Hermione looked wholeheartedly grateful. "It's wonderful up here. It makes the soul-searching seem less painful somehow."

"Facing yourself is a not an easy thing to do. It's hard to silence the old voices in your head. It takes time. But here, there is no one around to recall your misdeeds. Eventually, you put the past away and start to live."

Without warning, Hermione's eyes welled up with tears. "Yes," she whispered in a constricted voice. "I need to do that."

Severus heard warning bells go off alarmingly close by. Granger was an emotional minefield, and he didn't want to tread anywhere in that neighborhood just now.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," he said brusquely.

"Yes. Tomorrow." Hermione hesitated. "I was wondering… Sometimes it - it becomes a bit intense. It would be good to have a break now and then."

"Yes?" Snape was mystified, wondering where this was leading.

"I'd like to pull my weight, if you wouldn't mind. I could help you with some of your potions - the routine things, so you could be freed up to do more of your experimental work."

Share his workbench with Hermione Granger? "I appreciate the offer, but it's not necessary."

"Think about it. The offer stands." Hermione smiled at Snape, and turned to go. "See you tomorrow."

A/N: The Ojibwa words come from the "For Better or Worse" website, online home of myfavorite comic strip.Also - this chapter was only partially beta'd. My wonderful betahas gone missing thepast few days, and I hope she hasn't succumbed to the nasty bugs floating around!


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10: Letters**_

_Dear Hermione,_

_How are you? It's been forever since I've heard from you. _

_The kids are doing well. Samantha's alternating between excitement and downright terror at the thought of going off to Hogwarts in September. Given all the tales she's heard from her Weasley uncles (need I say which ones?), she's absolutely certain that she'll be having too much fun for there to be much studying involved. That's why I wish you were here right now; she needs someone to lay down the law about schoolwork, and you're the role model in that department. Not that Ginny and I were slackers, but you set the gold standard in that department years ago._

_As for Jamie, his little lip sticks out further and further each time Hogwarts is mentioned. He knows his big sister will be going away and he doesn't care for the idea. He is growing like a weed, and I'm beginning to wonder if he has some of the Weasley height genes. As we know, the Potter height genes are none too spectacular, are they?_

_Work has been busy. I wish I could say that all the Dark Wizards in Britain have packed up and moved away, but that's not the case. I don't think I ever appreciated just how many wizards feel the need to embrace the Dark. Were they always there? I confess that I had my Voldemort blinders on for so long time that it never occurred to me that there was more than one game in town. _

_Speaking of MLE, Tonks is working full-time again. Seems that she's worried sick about having an empty nest when the twins go off to Hogwarts. Remus is quite busy editing a new Defence textbook, and she's afraid she'll do nothing but sit around the house and moan come September the first. _

_I always feel as if we dance around the topic of Ron with each letter. I wish I could say there is good news on that front, but it's the same old story. One of the Healers suggested trying a Muggle scan of his brain to see if any of the damaged areas can be identified more exactly. Arthur was quite keen to try it, but I needn't tell you what Molly said, as I'm sure you can fill in the blanks quite well. Poor Ron… While I'm perfectly aware that life is grossly unfair, it never occurred to me that I would be forced to learn that lesson ad nauseum. _

_The last time I saw Ron, he had lost a lot of weight. Arthur said they are trying a new potion on him, something that will dampen the violent outbursts. I don't know what's worse: to see him almost manic with rage and fear, or so lifeless because he's so completely removed from reality. Who would have ever thought that our lives would turn out like this?_

_Better run. Ginny will be home soon._

_Love, Harry and the kids_

_Hi Harry,_

_Yes, I know it's been ages, and I know I've been terrible about writing. Forgive me?_

_You'll never believe whom I've run into. A few weeks ago I was sent to investigate a magical potion that had made the rounds of a few Muggles, only to end up in the hands of a wizard. It was an Insect Repellent, hardly a major incident, but one that needed checking into. Turns out that it was made by none other than Severus Snape. He's living in a remote cabin in the northern lakes area, brewing potions out of his cellar. _

_He's something of a changed man, believe it or not. Apparently it took quite a long time for him to divest all that anger and rage and come to terms with the past. While I can't say that he's turned into a hail-fellow-well-met, he is definitely more pleasant. Well, he's more pleasant now, I should say. When he saw me for the first time, he was just as bitter and savage as ever. After he became accustomed to my being around, he's really not bad. The solitude has healed him, he says._

_The place where he lives is beautiful. It's a cabin on a gorgeous lake, with loons and pine trees and solitude. I wish I could stay there forever; I need healing myself. Sometimes, when I'm there sitting at lakeside, it feels as if I've left the past behind and I find myself actually being happy again._

_Love to you and Sam and Jamie (and Ginny too, if she'd allow it),_

_Hermione_

_Dear Mr. Snow:_

_The Department of Canadian Patents is pleased to issue Patent 45588333-A144 for your Insect-Repelling Potion. Said potion, having been duly tested by a government laboratory and found safe for human use, is now classified as belonging to International Potions Standard A, Class 23(harmless when applied externally as directed). According to record this twenty-eighth day of July, 2013, you may entertain bids for manufacturing at your discretion. _

_Please note that any changes/improvements to the submitted formula, while not requiring a separate patent submission, must be tested at the Government's convenience. To request this process, please use Form R-4400093, Potions Revision._

_Sincerely,_

_Madam Alma Hobbs_

_Director_

_Department of Canadian Wizarding Patents_

_Dear Mr. Snow,_

_Please allow me to introduce myself: my name is Creighton Caldwell, and I am President and Chief Executive Officer of Caldwell Pharmaceutical Potions, Limited. CPP, based in Winnipeg, has a long, distinguished history of providing North America with the finest in magical potions and preparations for three centuries. _

_It is with interest that I have followed the patenting of your Insect Repelling Potion. As the patent application process is now completed, I would like to meet with you to discuss the licensing or sale of your product. Please indicate when you will be able to visit us in Winnipeg. Our facilities are at your disposal._

_Sincerely,_

_Creighton N. Caldwell_

_Caldwell Pharmaceutical Potions, Limited_

_12 Beet Street_

_Winnipeg, Manitoba_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Snape?_ _The bastard's still alive? And what did you mean in your last letter about him becoming used to having you around? What in the world are you playing at?_

_Harry_

_Mr._ _Caldwell,_

_While I appreciate your interest in my Insect-Repelling potion, I am unable to travel to Winnipeg to meet with you. If you would care to meet with me here at my home, please send an owl to indicate potential dates._

_Sebastian Snow_

_Harry,_

_I really can't explain what I mean about Snape. He's dropped out of society, for all intents and purposes. I believe he only has about three changes of clothing to his name, and no money to speak of. He barters for groceries at a small town ten miles from his cabin. And the cabin's not even his; he lives there as sort of a caretaker._

_I've spent several weekend days there – days, I said, not nights, so get your mind out of the gutter – and all I know is that it's the most peaceful place I've ever been. I would dearly love to give up my ridiculous job and stay there all the time. I know it sounds bizarre, but there you have it._

_Hermione _

_Hermione,_

_I can appreciate that you might need a rest, but with Snape? No place can be that good._

_Harry_

_Granger,_

_I don't suppose you would consider bringing something other than those gooey, tooth-numbing sweets next weekend? Some decent fruit and a few good cuts of meat would not be unwelcome._

_Snape_

_Snape,_

_You might want to be a bit more specific. I have no idea what type of fruit you like, and for that matter, what cuts of meat you prefer. While I am perfectly willing to bring a variety of foods with me, I don't care to be on the receiving end of one of your scowls just because you can't stand bananas or strip steaks._

_Hermione_

_Dear Hermione,_

_I wish you would come back to Britain for a visit. From the sound of your letters, you seem to be desperately in need of a good break in routine. _

_I haven't mentioned this to Ginny, for obvious reasons. Surely, after five years, you two could reach some common ground? You both loved Ron, and what happened isn't your fault. Neither she nor Molly blames you for Ron's condition. _

_Think about it? For an old friend?_

_Harry_

_Dear Harry,_

_Of course Ginny and Molly don't blame me; they're much too sensible. It's the fact that in their eyes, I deserted Ron. Not only did I leave him and move thousands of miles away, I had the nerve to divorce him. I think they'd love to scratch my eyes out._

_I'm sorry, Harry. I don't want to come now. Maybe some day._

_Hermione_

_Granger,_

_Could you add a decent cheese or two to your shopping list?_

_Severus_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11: Routines**_

Life began to settle into a routine. Hermione would Apparate to the lake on Saturday morning and return home Saturday evening. Sundays were the same. She was always careful to ask permission to return, always certain to leave before suppertime. Severus decided that Hermione knew her use of the cabin was tenuous at best, that it was generous of him to allow her to spend her free time there, and that she didn't want him to think that she expected meals as part of the bargain.

As the weeks passed and the two became less wary of each other, it seemed that their relationship relaxed as well. In the morning, Severus would put on a pot of coffee, then head for the cellar to begin his day's work. Hermione would show up soon after, bearing a bag or two of groceries. She would call out a hello, pour a cup of coffee, and settle on the deck to read the morning paper. Eventually, she would walk down to the lake and take the canoe out for a while, often staying out for an hour or two at a stretch. The first time she did this, Hermione was gone for so long that Snape began to wonder if she'd drowned. Afternoons, she would sit on the dock or walk in the woods, eventually returning in time to Apparate home.

And somewhere along the way, Snape became Severus and Granger became Hermione.

One rainy Saturday morning, Severus was upstairs when Hermione arrived with her bags of groceries.

"What's all this?" he wanted to know, watching her put out baking supplies.

"I haven't had breakfast yet, and I thought I'd make some scones."

Snape nodded and turned to go. Then, after wrestling briefly with himself, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a colander loaded with blueberries.

"Could you use any of these?"

"Could I!" Hermione's eyes widened with pleasure. "Did you pick these?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, Hermione, they fell from the sky."

By now, Hermione found the infamous Snape caustic wit neither unexpected nor disconcerting, and Severus wasn't sure if this was a good thing.

"Go away." She glared at him meaningfully and plucked the colander from his hands. "I'll let you know when they're ready."

It was a mark of how accustomed they were to one another, Severus thought, that she could tell him to go away without incurring his wrath. He left her to her own devices – she knew the kitchen as well as he did by now – and went back to the cellar, hoping that the scones wouldn't be as dreadfully sweet as some of the prepared baked good she had inflicted on him earlier. When his nose let him know that the scones were ready a full three minutes before Hermione's announcement, Snape made the pleasant discovery that the berries added enough tartness to appeal to his tastes. The blend of his hand-picked blueberries and Hermione Granger's recipe was a good match – especially when eaten warm, a rapidly melting dollop of butter on top.

"It's actually my mother's recipe," she told him after swallowing a bite. "The summer before seventh year, Mum was so worried about me – I was running off with Harry and Ron, instead of going back to Hogwarts. She decided to teach me to make scones. It was something that we could do together, you see. I think that we'd been growing apart for years, our worlds were so different. Of course, that was July, and they died in September…"

Her voice trailed off then. After an awkward silence, Severus cleared his throat.

"The scones are quite good," he said in a tone that too obviously showed that giving compliments didn't come naturally to him.

The success of the scones touched off a flurry of recipe experimentation. On her next visit, Hermione brought a cookbook and several recent issues of _O, Canada Witch! _magazine. Her Chicken Milan, Potatoes Bolognese, and Chocolate Mousse were a rousing success. The following week, Snape – succumbing to curiosity - scoured the cookbook and magazines for recipes, then managed to produce a delicious Saturday evening meal. As a result, dinners at the cabin, produced by one or the other or both, became an integral part of each weekend.

One evening after dark, Hermione spread a blanket on the dock and watched the canopy of stars overhead. When she returned to the cabin, she raved about the incredible celestial display, prompting Snape to inquire whether she'd completely forgotten taking astronomy at Hogwarts.

"I know, but this is different. I'm not doing it for a mark. I'm just admiring the sky. It's utterly fantastic, isn't it? There are so many stars, and you can see the Milky Way, and bits of the Northern Lights -" She broke off, flushing with embarrassment.

While Severus had been subject to the enthusiasms of Hermione Granger for six years, they were always directly related to the need for approval. This, however, was different; she was, quite simply, appreciating nature, and her glowing excitement was rather appealing.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," he said simply, going back to an absorbing article in his latest Potions journal.

After Hermione Disapparated home, Severus began to wonder if her visits to the cabin were working their magic, or if they served only to chase away her demons temporarily. He wasn't sure which, yet he was discovering – to his immense surprise – that her weekend visits were not only far from being intrusive, they were actually quite enjoyable. He also realized that he'd put on a pound or two as a result of their excellent cooking experiments.

Was Hermione Granger his friend? Severus thought about this as he lay awake in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. Real friendships had been in scarce commodity in his life. True, she was much more appealing without Potter and Weasley hanging onto her. The woman's intellect was amazing, really; they had wide-ranging, intelligent conversations over their experimental dinners, and Snape couldn't recall the last time he'd enjoyed anyone's company so much. It was shocking, when you came right down to it, he decided; if anyone had told him that one day he'd be good friends with the bushy-haired Gryffindor know-it-all, he would have suspected an incurable case of insanity. And friendship was as far as their relationship would ever go, of course. Severus had long ago realized that romance was for the young and the foolish. Besides, Hermione Granger couldn't possibly see anything in him worth pursuing. A murderous, antisocial hermit living in the woods? No, some day she would get over the business with Weasley and move on with her life, and rightly so.

It was entirely accidental the first time Hermione spent the night at the cabin, and it all boiled down to sheer clumsiness. She was stirring some pasta sauce on the stove and somehow managed to drop the spoon. When it clattered onto the counter, tomato sauce inadvertently splashed on her face and splattered her hair. Severus, who had been on the verge of Apparating a few miles away to collect some Canada Anemone and Cow Vetch, suggested she take a shower while he was gone.

He was returning to the cabin – poised to climb the front steps, in fact - when he heard a muted shriek from inside. He raced up the steps and flung open the screen door to find Granger, her hair in wet strings about her face, standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen. Meanwhile, Brady Lawford, halfway out of his seat at the dining table, was staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment.

"Hello, Brady, how are you?" Severus broke the awkward silence with a pleasant greeting.

Lawford pushed his chair out of the way and stood all the way up. "I'm fine. You seem to be doing quite well," he quipped with a straight face.

Snape ignored the jibe. "Do you remember Miss Granger?"

"Of course. Looks as if you must have found yourself another pilot, Miss Granger."

The word that Severus had heard from scores of guilty Hogwarts students over the years – _rumbled -_ rang through his mind. He started to scramble about for an excuse, but Hermione beat him to it.

"I did, actually. Would you believe that someone in the department next to mine is a pilot?" she said brightly, then gestured toward her sopping wet hair. "You'll have to excuse my appearance. I was helping Mr. Snow with one of his chemical compounds, and somehow it was far more reactive that we expected. I ended up with a goodly portion of it in my hair."

"Oh." Lawford looked mildly alarmed. "It's not dangerous, is it?"

"Not at all. Just rather sticky."

The sweet smile on Hermione's face disarmed Lawford completely. Severus marveled that the woman hadn't been sorted into Slytherin.

"If you'll excuse me," she continued, "I'll just sit out on the dock for a while so that my hair can dry."

Snape watched her go.

"So," said Brady, "she's actually here to help you with your chemistry experiments?"

"No," Severus admitted. "She's here looking for healing."

"Healing?"

"Healing. Emotional issues."

"Not unlike you, eh?" Lawford asked, smiling.

"Quite a bit like me, to be honest. Is it all right with you if she spends some time here?"

"Might as well. The more, the merrier. Where's she sleeping? Your room?"

Severus scowled. "Really, Brady, do you honestly believe that she and I would be involved?"

"Why not? You're a man, she's a woman. I don't believe there are a lot of requirements other than that. Well," Lawford said, looking about the cabin, "I suppose I could sleep on the sofa. She's sleeping in the loft, I take it?"

Snape started to retort that she wasn't sleeping anywhere in the vicinity, then realized their dilemma. Hermione had claimed that another pilot had flown her to the cabin, and short of another pilot's appearing out of nowhere to fly her home, she was stuck. Disapparating was not an option. "Yes," he mumbled, wondering what Hermione would say to all this. "She's sleeping in the loft."

It was another fifteen minutes before Severus could free himself from Brady's chatter and head for the dock. Hermione, it seemed, was already thinking along the same lines.

"Is Mr. Lawford staying?" She scrambled to her feet.

"I'm afraid so."

"For how long?"

"He didn't say, but if he comes up on Saturday, he usually flies back on Sunday." Snape took a deep breath. "You can't Disapparate, you know. You'll have to stay the night."

"But – where would I sleep?"

He shrugged. "There's a bed in the loft. There's no way around it, I'm afraid. It would be different if there were another way out of here, but there isn't."

Hermione's brow was furrowed in thought. "What if I said I had a ride picking me up in Trapper's Bay?"

"First an imaginary pilot and now an imaginary ride?" Severus shook his head. "No one in their right mind would walk ten miles to town to catch a lift. And the only people driving anywhere out of Trapper's Bay are the people who live there. I can't imagine that Brady would buy a story like that, even if you smiled and batted your eyelashes again."

"Batted my eyelashes again?" she echoed indignantly. "I did no such thing!"

"It's not dangerous, Mr. Lawford," Severus said in a simpering falsetto. "Just a little sticky. I had to wash my hair, you see -"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione grumbled. "I'm sorry. I was in the shower, and I didn't hear the plane land. Otherwise, I would have left the cabin before he even had a chance to kill the engine."

"It's only a temporary inconvenience," Snape said dismissively. "You can conjure the items you need?"

She nodded, then asked, "What if he stays longer than just one night?"

Severus, who had turned to go, hesitated. "Then I hope your Madam Hobbs is an understanding woman."

Hermione snorted in derision. "Alma? Not a chance. I -" She halted abruptly, her eyes huge. "Severus! The magazines!

The woman was beginning to babble, he thought in annoyance. "What magazines?"

"The _O Canada Witch!_ magazines!" Hermione cried, the color draining from her face. "They're not Muggle-warded!"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Exasperated, Snape strode quickly back up the path to the cabin. "Where are they?" he bellowed over his shoulder.

"One was in the kitchen." She scuttled after him. "I don't know about the other one, -"

He waved her off, finally storming into the cabin and trying to look nonchalant.

Lawford, in the midst of sorting through his fishing rods, looked up.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Just looking for something I misplaced," Severus told him glibly, his eyes darting over the things scattered on the kitchen counters. He found the first magazine – thankfully lying face down – and rolled it up so that the cover was hidden, then strolled into the living room. The second copy of _O Canada Witch!_ was nowhere in sight. Theoretically, Severus told himself, Lawrence probably hadn't been inside the place long enough to notice things like magazines thrown about; finding Hermione there had been the big surprise.

He located the second issue on his bedside table, where he'd left it. He'd been looking for recipes the night before, and Snape fervently hoped that Brady hadn't snooped around the bedroom yet. What his landlord would have to say about a tenant who read something called _O Canada Witch!_ was truly beyond contemplating. He shoved the magazines between his mattress and box spring, then went in search of Hermione's cookery book. It turned out to be a Muggle cookery book, and Severus could only breathe a sigh of relief.

* * *

Outside in the blackness, the loons were calling. Inside the dark cabin, all was quiet, except for Brady Lawford's bone-rattling snores. They had kept Severus awake on more than one occasion, yet tonight's wakefulness was due more to the presence of the third person in the loft. Snape supposed that person was sleeping, although he wouldn't have been surprised if the noise were keeping Hermione just as wide awake as him. She had gamely maintained the ruse of spending the night, and he suspected that she'd never show up at the cabin again without a bag packed 'just in case'.

Another hard lesson learned – one that Snape couldn't completely blame on Hermione – was the necessity of disguising anything magic-related so as not to raise questions. His own Potions Journals were concealed in plain sight; Lawford had seen them lying about for years under the title _Chemistry Equations Made Easy_. He should have thought to insist that she Muggle-ward her magazines as soon as she brought them in the house. Years of living away from civilization had softened him, Severus decided. Had he been this lax during the war years, he would have been struck dead early on.

Snape swung his legs out of bed and reached for his dressing gown: a transfigured sweatshirt, his concession to convention whenever Lawford stayed the night. He owned only two pair of trousers and a handful of shirts; there was no need to spend more when he could easily transfigure what he had to suit the climate. It was a far cry from his days at Hogwarts, when he'd splurged on the finest robes that Eugenia Malkin could provide. Severus stood and pulled on the dressing gown, thinking that fine craftsmanship or not, he would sooner waltz naked through the fires of hell than wear wizard's robes again. They belonged to his past, and the past was long gone.

He opened the bedroom door, planning to head directly for the bathroom. Instead, a noise on the stairs directly ahead of him caught his attention, and Hermione Granger stopped short at the sight of him.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I disturb you?" She hugged her own dressing gown around her a bit tighter.

"Not at all." Severus's eyes adjusted to the dim light of the nearby nightlight. "Lawford does an adequate job of disturbing everyone."

Hermione chuckled quietly. "Is he always this noisy?"

"Sadly, yes. I suspect that his wife throws him out when she can't take it anymore."

"I can sympathize." Hermione gestured in the other direction. "I was just heading for the bathroom."

"As was I. You first." Severus nodded her forward.

"Thanks. I won't be long." She trotted down the rest of the steps.

"Is there anything you need upstairs?"

"No, I'm fine, I think."

"There are extra blankets in the chest up there if you become chilly."

"Great." Hermione smiled gratefully before heading around the corner to the bathroom.

Severus retreated to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the sounds of Hermione moving about in the bathroom and Lawford snoring loudly in the living room, and wondered what had happened to his peace and quiet. After a short time, he could hear Hermione's footsteps marching back up the stairs.

* * *

As predicted, Brady Lawford flew home to Thunder Bay late Sunday afternoon, but not before raving about the meal Severus and Hermione had put in front of him on Saturday night.

"That was outstanding," he exclaimed, stowing his overnight bag in the back seat of the plane. "Since when have you turned into such a good cook, Sebastian?"

Snape glanced sideways at Hermione. "We've been experimenting with some new recipes," he said simply.

"Well, you two make a good team in the kitchen. Say, what's the news about your patent on that insect repellant? Speaking of which, I'll be needing a fresh bottle fairly soon."

"The patent's been approved. A representative from a chemical company in Winnipeg is coming next week to meet with me," Severus told him.

"Excellent!" Brady seemed impressed. "Think it'll make you rich?"

"I doubt it. Chances are, the only change may be that I'll be able to pay cash for my groceries in the future." Severus caught a glimpse of the approving look that passed over Hermione's face and studiously ignored it.

"Well, if you make a fortune, I'll have to think about charging you rent." Lawford roared with laughter as he climbed from the float pod into the cockpit of the plane. "Take care, Sebastian. You too, Hermione."

The pair walked back to the cabin as Brady started the engine, then stood watching as he pulled the plane away from the dock. The sun was low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the lake, while the ripples of the plane's wake glistened in response. Neither Severus nor Hermione spoke while the plane taxied off into the distance, made a one hundred-eighty degree turn, then gathered speed. As it neared them, it pulled itself into the sky, trailing streams of water from its floats. Lawford dipped one wing in quick salute, then soared off into the distance.

Hermione sighed as she watched the airplane become a speck in the sky. "I suppose I'd better be leaving as well. It's growing late, and I have to be at work in the morning." She turned to go inside, but Snape's voice stopped her.

"Granger… Hermione… There's really little sense in your returning to your home each night you're here, unless you absolutely need to for some reason. If you wish to stay overnight in the future, you may."

Startled, Hermione nodded. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

**A/N:** My wonderful beta, GraceHasVictory, tells me that 'rumbled' would be the British expression of choice in place of 'busted'. I have to trust her on this one, so if you're a Brit, I hope you get the point. If you're an American, 'busted' is where I was headed.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter 12: Signing on the Dotted Line_**

****Severus didn't think for a moment that Creighton Caldwell, President and CEO of Caldwell Pharmaceutical Potions, would be interested in Apparating to the middle of nowhere to discuss his Insect Repelling Potion, and he was right. Certainly, had he made the effort to visit the headquarters in Winnipeg, Snape suspected that he would have been ushered into Caldwell's office to shake hands and sign the necessary contracts. But an insect repellant, while enormously helpful to a good many people, was hardly worth a personal visit by the company's president.

Instead, they sent Brodie Winslow, Caldwell's Head of Development. He was almost painfully good-looking, with a full head of wavy blonde hair and striking blue eyes, clad in an expensive, finely-tailored gray robe. He seemed to be around Hermione's age, and Severus wondered how someone that young could already be a department head.

"Mr. Snow? I'm Brodie Winslow."

Snape held open the screen door for the man to enter. "Please come in, Mr. Winslow."

Brodie shook hands with Severus, glancing around the cabin as he did so. "This is a nice place you have here," he said, exuding a noticeable lack of sincerity.

The man had manicured nails and reeked of some sort of cologne, Snape noted, discarding his hand as soon as politeness allowed. "Thank you, but the cabin belongs to a friend. I live here and take care of it for him. May I offer you a cool drink?"

"That would be nice, thank you. It's very warm out today, isn't it?"

And, evidently the sort who didn't care to break a sweat and dampen his elegant robes, Severus sneered inwardly. Even leaving the big city and venturing into the North Woods was probably a stretch for him. "Please take a seat in the living room, and I'll be right in."

Snape opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of iced tea. He had thought the idea of putting ice cubes in tea a barbaric custom until his first summer at the cabin. Now he gave it no more thought than the hot tea he drank in the winter. Pouring two glasses, he carried them into the living room, where Winslow was already opening a briefcase and spreading out papers.

"Thank you." Brodie took the glass, lifted it to his mouth, and drained it half-empty within seconds. As he did so, his sleeve slid back to reveal a glittering gold bracelet. "Delicious."

Arrogant, attractive, and probably wealthy on top of everything. Brodie Winslow reminded Snape more and more of a cross between Lucius Malfoy and Gilderoy Lockhart, and that wasn't a good thing. Severus sincerely hoped that Winslow wasn't a shining example of the rest of Caldwell Pharmaceuticals; no other company had expressed an interest in the insect repellent yet, so it wasn't as if he could take his formula elsewhere. Besides, Snape wanted to take care of this business and be done with it so he could start supper; it was Friday afternoon, and Hermione would be along shortly. She came every weekend now, and Severus didn't even bother to ward the cabin after noon on Fridays in case she showed up early.

Their relationship had undergone a subtle change now that Hermione was permitted to spend the night at the cabin. They were less guarded in their interactions, and Severus would almost go as far as saying that they shared a comfortable, easy rapport. They had worked out a menu schedule and accompanying grocery lists, even assigning kitchen tasks for each other. It was not unusual for Manitou or Minerva to carry notes back and forth several times a week. Most telling of the change in the interior climate, however, was the fact that Severus had finally asked Hermione to attend to some of the potions brewing in the cellar while he went off to collect some ingredients.

_"Really?" She looked startled. Snape merely looked annoyed._

_"Unless you find brewing Pepper-Up and the Draught of Peace beneath you," he said._

_"I don't know, Severus," Hermione said in mock seriousness. "I really wanted to sit on the dock for an hour and meditate. I find that when the sun is exactly at this angle in the sky, I can really connect with the cosmos and -"_

_"Connect with the cosmos another time, would you?" he snapped, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth._

_"You're cruel and heartless."_

_"And you're an insufferable know-it-all."_

_"Not anymore," Hermione pointed out indignantly. "And for that matter, you're no longer cruel and heartless, either."_

_Severus had stopped in his tracks, regarding her shrewdly. "No," he said, his voice soft. "Not any more."_

"What are your proposals, Mr. Winslow?" Snape asked now, wanting to move the process along.

The representative from Caldwell finished sorting through the paperwork and leaned back in his seat. "I think you'll be pleased, Mr. Snow. There are three options here that we're prepared to offer. The first option is quite simple: we pay you a lump sum for the use of your patented formula. The second provides you with a fixed, yearly lump sum as long as we use the formula. The final choice is this: we give you a lump sum that is considerably smaller, but you receive two percent of the profits for every bottle of repellant sold."

"I see." Severus had anticipated something of this sort. Common sense seemed to dictate that selecting one of the first two options was the best choice if he wanted to start a decent nest egg, but the third option could mean a lot more money in the long run, if sales of the repellant were brisk. Caldwell Pharmaceutical Potions, he believed, would gamble that the larger amounts up front would dazzle him into missing the potentially greater dividends with the third choice. "What are the sales projections for my repellent?"

Winslow shot him a patronizing smile. "I'm afraid you'll need to start thinking of it as _our _repellent, Mr. Snow. Once you've signed the contract, you have rights to the formula only."

Severus gritted his teeth, certain now that he disliked the man intensely. "What are the projections, then, for sales of _your _repellent made with _my _formula?"

"We're quite excited about that, actually. Our marketing team is working on an advertising plan even as we speak. The last I heard, they were considering 'Bugaway' as the trade name for the product." Winslow, obviously pleased with himself and the brain trust at his company, appeared to be waiting for Snape to leap to his feet and applaud.

Bugaway. Severus wanted to vomit. Surely Voldemort, in whatever hell was reserved for psychopathic mutants, was laughing up his sleeve. The great Severus Snape - teacher, Potions Master and former Death Eater - was now the creator of something called Bugaway. He could only suppose that the bottles would display a skull and crossbones, along with a picture of an insect in its death throes.

Suddenly the screen door swung open, and Hermione struggled inside with grocery bags in each hand. She swung the bags onto the kitchen counter with a loud thump. "Hello, I'm here. It's certainly hot out there today. I bought the Brie you've been wanting – oh, I'm sorry," she said, spotting the strange man sitting in the living room. "You must be the rep from Caldwell."

Winslow rose to his feet at once. "I am," he said, extending his hand as Hermione walked toward him. "Brodie Winslow. Please to meet you, Mrs. Snow."

Hermione's cheeks suffused a deep red.

Severus smirked. "This is Hermione Granger. She's a professional colleague," he announced at once. _So much for the man's silly notions_, he thought triumphantly.

"Oh." Winslow's polite expression changed abruptly to one of avid interest, and there was now a definite gleam in his eye. "How do you do, Madam Granger?"

"Quite well, thank you," Hermione said, her face still pink.

"Are you involved in the settlement?" The man gestured vaguely toward the pile of papers, never taking his eyes from Hermione's face.

"No, I'm afraid not. This was completely Sebastian's doing."

"What a pity. I was hoping you could join us."

Winslow was smiling in an oily way, clearly more interested in Hermione than in the negotiations, and it was then that Severus felt a wave of jealousy hit him square in the gut. He wasn't sure whether to be appalled that he was jealous, or to react in righteous indignation on Hermione's behalf.

"Excuse me," Snape interrupted coldly, "but Madam Granger needs to attend to the Invigoration Draught in the cellar."

Hermione stared at him. "I do?" she asked blankly, then quickly recovered. "Oh, of course, I'd forgotten. I'll just put the rest of the groceries away before I go downstairs."

"Now then," Severus continued in a tone that dared the Caldwell rep to take issue with him, "let's take a closer look at your proposals, Mr. Winslow."

It took less than twenty minutes for Snape to consider the three proposals, choose the third as he'd planned all along, and sign on the parchment's dotted line. Brodie wrote a check for the initial amount, and Severus ushered him to the door.

"There's no need for you to walk all the way back to the dock, Mr. Winslow. It was merely an Apparition target. You can Disapparate perfectly well from this point."

"I was wondering, Mr. Snow," Brodie said pleasantly as he turned to face Snape, "if I could possibly see your laboratory. It's in the cellar, I believe you said. I find it remarkable that you have a working lab all the way out here in the wilderness."

Severus' lips pressed into a thin line. "There's nothing remarkable about it, Mr. Winslow. It's a very small lab in a very small cellar."

"Still, one doesn't find that even in the cities, usually. Have you been doing Potions research for long?" Winslow started down the porch steps and headed for the cellar.

_Since you were in nappies, you slimy arse_, Snape wanted to scream, now forced to trail the man down the path. "I've been a Potions Master since I was -"

"Oh, yes, of course. I'd forgotten. Didn't you teach Potions at one time?"

"I taught for fifteen years." _And worked harder at it than you've ever worked in your life, you little cretin…_

Brodie reached the cellar door. "In here?" he asked politely, pointing to the open cellar door.

"How many cellars do you think I have, Mr. Winslow?" Severus snapped.

Winslow disregarded Snape's question and stepped into the cellar. He was tall enough that he had to duck his head somewhat in order to miss the doorframe. "Madam Granger, I was just taking a peek at Mr. Snow's cellar. I don't mean to interrupt your work."

His gleaming smile couldn't have convinced anyone of his innocence, Severus thought with a new wave of loathing.

Hermione glanced from Brodie's saintly expression to Snape's stormy glare. "You're not interrupting me, Mr. Winslow."

"Please, call me Brodie."

Severus stepped forward, a scowl plastered in all directions on his face. "Mr. Winslow was just leaving," he announced pointedly. "He wanted to take a quick look at my lab."

"This is it," Hermione said, a sweep of her arm indicating the whole of the small room in one motion.

"I see."

The man was an absolute idiot who must have gained his position at Caldwell through nepotism of the most flagrant kind, Snape thought darkly. "You've seen the lab, Mr. Winslow. Madam Granger and I have work to do."

Brodie eyed him appraisingly, as though looking for some way to refute Snape's claim and hang about for a few more minutes. Finally, he shrugged. "I'll be off, then. As I indicated, Mr. Snow, you can expect to hear from our Marketing Department as soon as Bugaway hits the shelves."

"That will be fine." Snape stood there with his arms firmly crossed.

Winslow extended his hand once more, but this time, Severus failed to accept it. He let the arm drop awkwardly at his side. "It was nice to meet you, Madam Granger."

"Thank you," Hermione said simply.

"Good day."

Severus watched the man walk toward the dock, keeping an eye on him until he had definitely Disapparated. "Well," he said, "that's over with."

Hermione eyed him stonily from where she perched on a stool. Next to her elbow, a cauldron of Invigoration draught was brewing quite easily with no assistance whatsoever. "May I come upstairs now?"

"The man was positively unctuous," Severus said flatly. "I was doing you a favor."

"Oh, really? Did you, by some chance, think I couldn't handle the smarmy bastard?"

"Of course you could handle him. You're a grown woman."

"Thank you for noticing," Hermione said acidly as she slid off her stool. "How did it go? The actual business part of the visit, that is."

"Their offers were as I suspected. Two designed to entice me to take a large sum up front, and one which guaranteed me a share of the profits."

"And you took…?"

"The latter, of course."

"I hope you made the right choice." Hermione took a clip from her pocket and began pinning her wayward curls up off her neck. "I'd hate to have to buy five hundred bottles of insect repellant just so you could turn a profit."

Severus stared at her in amazement, trying to disregard the fact that he'd just noticed what a lovely neck she had. "Surely you're joking."

"Of course I am. What am I supposed to do with five hundred bottles of insect repellant? Give them away as Christmas gifts?"

He ignored the quip. "Apparently the Caldwell people are looking at the name 'Bugaway' for the product," Snape told her.

"'Bugaway'?" Hermione repeated, then burst into peals of laughter. "How horrible! They're not going to put your name on it anywhere, are they?"

Snape couldn't help smiling. "I certainly hope not. But if they do, at least it's an alias. And let's go outside. It's beastly hot in here."

"I'm so glad you realized this, since you're the one who exiled me down here."

"That's over with now," he reminded her.

"Right," Hermione said, marching past him out the door. "'Look but don't touch, Mister Smarmy Caldwell Pharmaceuticals man. I need her to sit in a stifling cellar and watch a pot boil.'"

Severus had the uncomfortable feeling that she had seen right through the excuse that he was being overprotective. Which left the alternative, the one he didn't want to face just now: he was jealous, that he had somehow allowed Hermione Granger to play a greater role in his life than he'd ever imagined possible.

"I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine and sit on the dock," Hermione told him as she reveled in the breeze coming off the lake. "You may join me, if you like. Unless, of course, you have some other drudgery for me to perform."

"I'm warning you, Granger," Snape began, not happy at all that he'd unwittingly succumbed to the charms of a woman's companionship.

"So I'm Granger again, am I?"

There was a definite twinkle in her eyes, and Severus remembered why he had always considered himself lucky to avoid romantic entanglements. What in the world had he gotten himself into, allowing this woman to spend days under his very roof?

"Would you like to spend the weekend at your apartment, by any chance?" It was a pitifully weak threat. Severus Snape had built his reputation on being ruthlessly cold-hearted, and now that he needed to reclaim that demeanor, it was doing its best to avoid him.

Hermione grinned broadly. "And miss the chance to try your Steak au Poivre? Don't be ridiculous."

Severus watched her practically skip her way up to the cabin and, with a sinking heart, realized that he was fighting a losing battle.

He was frankly relieved when Hermione told him, over dinner, that she had a business trip coming up the next weekend and would be unable to visit the cabin. It was a good thing, Severus decided. He had no intention of getting romantically involved with anyone, let alone Hermione Granger, and some time apart would be just what he needed.

But when the next weekend rolled around and Snape found himself eating a solitary dinner of canned tuna fish, the ache in his heart was undeniable.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter 13: The Alternative_**

Hermione gambled that Apparating to the road a mile away from Severus Snape's cabin would land her outside his wards, and to her relief, it did. The sun was going down, and the last thing she wanted was to be stumbling about in the dark. As soon as she had time to orient herself (left was toward the cabin, right led toward Trapper's Bay), Hermione dumped her suitcase on the ground, threw it open, and pulled out her trainers. She kicked off her high heels and plopped herself onto the ground. Bloody heels... What in the world did fashion designers think they were doing, anyway, creating things like this for women? It wasn't fair, she thought as she angrily tugged on the trainers; men didn't have to totter around three inches off the ground, so why were women required to do it? Hermione climbed to her feet once more. It felt so _good _to get out of the hideous heels and back into something comfortable. She started to toss the heels back into the suitcase, then – glaring at them as though they were evil incarnate – she hurled them, one at a time, into the woods. _The moose can have them_, she thought viciously. Closing up the suitcase, she marched down the road toward the cabin.

* * *

Severus couldn't remember the last time he'd been so happy to see Sunday night arrive. The weekend, lacking the presence of Hermione Granger, had stretched on for what seemed an interminable period of time. He suspected that at some point in the evening, her owl Minerva would arrive with a note saying that she'd returned home from her conference.

All in all, it was the worst weekend he'd spent in a very long time. He'd tried to tell himself that Hermione's absence was inconsequential; after all, Snape had lived all but two months of his life without Granger as a part-time roommate. He had expected that this weekend would be just like the thirteen years of weekends that had taken place before she showed up at his door: he would work in the cellar lab, read, fish.

And he found that he was positively miserable. How was it possible that in the space of two months, the woman had altered his life so completely? All week long, Severus had tried to ignore the niggling little voice in his head which suggested that Hermione Granger was more than a previous student and unexpectedly welcome friend. Snape had never sought love and, not surprisingly, it never found him. Beating off a bevy of women was not an issue with which he'd had to deal, and he could well see why: the sarcastic, anti-social, cruel person he'd been for much of his life was not the type to attract females, even the desperate ones. As a result, Severus' discovery that he harbored tender feelings toward Granger came as something of a shock.

As for what to do about it, Snape had no clue. As much as Hermione enjoyed spending her weekends at the cabin, he wondered if she would have been just as happy had he not been there. They'd certainly started off on the wrong foot. And the first weekend or two, she'd worked hard to stay out of his way and avoid disrupting his routine. Lately, however, that was no longer true. Certainly their joint cooking adventures were pleasurable for more than just the meals they produced, and they had begun to develop a similar camaraderie downstairs in the lab. And why not? They were both Potions Masters; it wasn't as if Hermione were still a student and he had to direct her every move. And the evenings, when they would sit and watch the sun go down, discuss articles from Snape's Potions Journals, or talk of inconsequential things, were quite wonderful. Still, no woman in her right mind would want to become entangled with someone who -

Severus started at the rapping on the door. Only Hermione had ever knocked on his door during the thirteen years he had lived at the cabin, but that was on Fridays or Saturdays, not Sundays. And Lawford's Muggle airplane announced _his_ arrival well in advance of the man's actual appearance. Opening the door, Snape found Hermione Granger standing on the porch, suitcase in hand.

_Sweet Merlin, she's moving in,_ Severus thought with a frisson of mingled dismay and delight. "Hermione, what -"

"May I come in?" she blurted.

"Of course, but –"

Hermione came into the kitchen, putting down her suitcase at once. "I've only just left the conference," she said, looking rather distracted.

Severus caught sight of the trainers peeking out from beneath her cloak. "Did you wear those to the conference?"

"Wear what?" Hermione followed his gaze to her feet. "Oh, the trainers. No. I Apparated to the road and changed my shoes. I threw the high heels into the woods."

"You what?"

"I threw my dress shoes into the woods," she repeated.

"I see." Snape frowned. "And the reason you did that is…?"

"They hurt my feet."

"They hurt your feet," he echoed, then, "Hermione, are you sure you're quite all right?"

Hermione's face suddenly crumpled. "No."

"What happened?"

"It was a horrible weekend, just horrible. First of all, Madam Hobbs went along to the conference with me. I had to share a room with her."

From what she had told him of Alma Hobbs, Severus suspected that Hermione deemed her weekend to be just as long and miserable as his own. "That _is_ distressing," he sympathized. "What else happened?"

By now, Hermione's eyes were flashing with anger. "She wants to transfer me to Vancouver! I don't want to transfer to Vancouver!"

"Why not?"

"Because I want to be here, not in Vancouver."

"But you could Apparate here from Vancouver just as easily as you do now," Snape pointed out, wanting to inject some reason into the situation.

"That's not the point, Severus! I hate my job and I hate Alma Hobbs! I'm sick and tired of everything, and - and -" Hermione's voice cracked.

"Why don't you come in and sit down?"

She shook her head stubbornly. "I want to go down to the lake for a while. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I know it's getting late, and I promise I won't be long..."

"Don't be ridiculous. You know you can take whatever time you need." Severus watched as she headed back out the door, then returned to the Potions journal he'd been trying to read earlier in the evening. Finally, when Hermione had been gone almost an hour, his curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to check on her. It was the end of August now, and while the first frosts were still weeks away, the nights were markedly cooler. He made a mug of hot tea, then pulled a sweatshirt over his denim shirt and headed for the dock.

The sun was gone, the sky almost completely black. Severus had to use his wand to light the path. When he arrived at the dock, Hermione was nothing more than a dark shape standing in the twilight, turning to acknowledge his arrival.

"Here." Severus held out the steaming mug. "Are you doing better?"

"Thank you," she said, gratefully taking the tea from him and sipping. "Mmm. I suppose fall is coming, isn't it?"

"Inevitably, and you didn't answer my question."

Hermione sighed heavily. "I suppose I'm better. These last two months were so nice; I was coming here every weekend, and the rest of the week didn't seem quite so awful."

"Going away for restful weekends is not necessarily the same as successfully coping with life," Snape pointed out.

"That's for certain," she said unhappily. "When Alma told me that she was transferring me, I just – I don't know, I snapped, I suppose. I was already in a job I didn't like, and she was sending me someplace I didn't want to go, still in a job I didn't like…."

"I'm rather familiar with the situation myself," Severus said wryly. "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing. I didn't say goodbye to her or anything, I just turned around and Apparated here. Well, not here. Down the road," she clarified, sighing once more. "I feel a right idiot."

"Why? Just because you dislike your supervisor and your job? I should think much of the world feels as you do."

"No, I feel like an idiot for overreacting. I always rather prided myself on keeping a cool head."

"You certainly had plenty of practice at it while you were at Hogwarts. I suspect that one reason Potter's still alive is because of your ability to think in a crisis."

Hermione managed a tight smile. "Was that a compliment?"

"Absolutely not. It was mere speculation." Severus was silent for a moment. "I've found that when one is…deeply unhappy…it's nearly impossible to react rationally when confronted with unwelcome change."

"I suppose you're right."

"Where do you want to be, Hermione? You don't like your job, you don't want to transfer to Vancouver. Where do you want to be?"

There was a pregnant pause. "I want to be here with you," she mumbled.

Severus felt a twinge of hope awaken in his breast. "You want to be here with me," he repeated quietly.

"I love it here," Hermione said simply. "It's so peaceful, so much easier to see life clearly…"

"Of course." The twinge of hope faded a bit. The cabin and the lake were the attraction after all, not him.

"Severus, I have to tell you something."

In the dark, Hermione sounded miserable, Severus thought. His imagination shifted into overdrive: Weasley had recovered from his injuries and was coming to reclaim his ex-wife. Or she was just diagnosed with an incurable disease. Or -

"I've fallen in love with you, and you're going to tell me that I'm stupid and that I should come to my senses!"

Snape was suddenly acutely aware of his own breathing, of the quiet lapping of water on the shore, of the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

"I see." His voice didn't seem like his own at all. But unless there was a third person on the dock, it _was _his voice. The auditory hallucinations were a new development, Severus thought; surely he'd only imagined -

"I'm really sorry." Hermione was on the verge of tears. "I didn't mean for it to happen. At first I thought it was the cabin I missed every week, but it wasn't. Every morning, I wished I could see you and talk to you, and that we could go into Trapper's Bay, and that we could work on potions in the cellar, and I promise I'll be out of your life and you won't have to deal with me anymore, and -"

Severus could feel his heart pounding now. These weren't hallucinations, and a woman was actually declaring her love for him.

For most of his life, he would have run from this situation. Not because he was a coward, of course; first he would have insulted the woman within an inch of her life so that she believed the abandonment was her choice instead of his. In fact, he would probably have behaved in such a way until – when? A week ago?

"Will you kindly shut up, Hermione? I want to kiss you, and I can't if you keep jabbering on like that."

Even in the darkness, he could see her eyes widen in amazement.

Snape wished, for the first time in his life, that he'd had a modicum of success with women. He might not feel as awkward and stiff as he did right now. It was a good thing that Hermione couldn't see his discomfort, his indecision. Perhaps she would imagine him approaching her with confidence as he gently tilted her chin up, placed his lips against hers, -

They were soft lips. Soft, eager lips. Severus was hit by a sudden wave of fear. The impulse to push her away, to retreat into his shell, was nearly overwhelming. He forced himself to pull her towards him, to hold her close.

And then _she_ was the insistent one, sliding her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him, demanding more. And the idea of losing himself to someone – willingly, unabashedly, losing himself – no longer seemed such a bad idea.

* * *

It came as an enormous surprise to Severus when he awoke in the morning to find Hermione Granger still burrowed next to him in bed. These things had always happened to other men, not to him. He knew there was a protocol of some sort, but for the life of him, he couldn't think what to do except get up and make a pot of coffee.

He was quite grateful that Hermione had been so undemanding of him. The woman had been married, for Merlin's sake, and for a brief moment Snape had the fleeting fear that he was competing with Ronald Weasley. In a way, Hermione had taken the upper hand – not as the bossy know-it-all, but as a tender lover who wanted Severus and Severus alone. He'd waited for rejection all night, but it never came.

While the coffee brewed, Snape stood in the bedroom doorway to catch a glimpse of the sleeping Hermione. He'd never, in all his years of teaching, been attracted to a student. To his way of thinking, they were all whiny and immature and painfully ignorant of the harsh realities of life. Of course, this particular former student had proven her mettle repeatedly, as early as her first year when she solved his carefully crafted potions riddle en route to the Philosopher's Stone. And that, Severus thought, was the only drawback to a relationship with Hermione: it came with Harry Potter attached. But at least he was an ocean away, and it was a small price to pay – as long as Potter stayed on his side of the Atlantic.

So this was love.

The coffee pot gurgled, and Severus returned to the kitchen to pour himself a very large cup.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter 14: An Ordinary Life**_

_Dear Mr. Lawford,_

_I'm sure you remember me, Hermione Granger, from your last visit to the cabin where Sebastian Snow is staying. I believe that Mr. Snow indicated to you that I was having difficulties in dealing with events in my past, and that I found the time spent at your cabin to be quite beneficial._

_I'm writing to you because I would like to ask your permission to reside at the cabin with Sebastian. As the owner, it is certainly your prerogative to refuse, if you so desire. If the arrangement is not to your liking, please let me know._

_Sincerely, _

_Hermione Granger_

Hermione moved into the cabin in September, giving up her apartment and her job in one fell swoop. She had taken great delight in handing over her resignation to Madam Hobbs, giving the required two weeks notice. Hobbs, who was fairly accustomed to her employees deserting her for greener pastures, accepted it with equanimity until she asked the usual question about Hermione's future plans. Hermione admitted frankly that she had no new job on the horizon, and furthermore, was relocating to the woods for reasons of emotional health. Madam Hobbs' jaw had dropped precipitously, finally giving Hermione the pleasure of seeing her supervisor rendered speechless.

For a man treading in an unknown land, Severus thought he had adjusted quite well. Still, he was not without his misgivings.

He had to relearn how to share – not just on weekends, but every day. No longer could Severus use the bathroom whenever he wanted, and _his _daily routine suddenly became _their _daily routine. Mealtimes weren't an issue, as they'd already worked out that protocol. Less clear was their joint use of the cellar lab; Hermione had expressed a desire to start a few potions projects of her own, and Snape was still trying to figure out how to magically expand the small room. On the other hand, he decided, it was a small price to pay for the warmth of her body next to him each night, as well as the stray hair fanning across her pillow to tickle his cheek.

There was also the nagging fear that Hermione would adopt some sort of silly endearment for him, or spend her free time wound around him like a female version of Devil's Snare. Severus was not a romantic, never had been, and never would be. He considered himself to be completely clueless when it came to women, having never managed a successful relationship with one. At Hogwarts, he'd witnessed lovesick adolescents openly displaying their adulation in the hallways on a daily basis, and although he had never noticed Hermione Granger behaving in such a manner, it didn't mean that the potential didn't exist. If she thought that she could drape herself all over him and call him 'Sevvy-Poo', she was seriously mistaken.

To Snape's immense relief, Hermione's usual shows of affection during the course of a day amounted to nothing more than a gentle hand on his shoulder when passing behind him in the lab, or smiling in the way that Snape knew was meant for him and him alone. These were loving gestures with which he felt comfortable, and as a result, decided that he could manage to respond in kind. But was that the way she wanted him to respond?

Severus finally brought up the subject. Autumn was in full swing: the deciduous trees had turned, the glassy lake quietly reflecting their riot of color, while the water birds began their southward migrations. There was a frost every night, and soon the first snows would come. But for now, the crisp autumn days ruled. Down on the dock, Hermione was a living embodiment of fall: clothed in a weathered green jumper and denim jeans, her brown hair almost gleaming in the afternoon sun. She was making her usual futile attempts at fishing, Snape noted, and he smiled. He poured two cups of hot tea and went to join her.

If there was one thing he'd learned for certain about Hermione Granger, it was that she preferred activities which involved mental prowess and predictable outcomes. It was that combination which made a specialty like Potions so appealing to her, and caused Muggle fishing to be so bloody frustrating. Severus had watched her try her hand at fishing on several occasions, and each time the result was the same – no fish on the line, and a disgruntled Hermione. This time, apparently, was no different. As he approached, Hermione reeled in the line, put down her pole, and sank to a sitting position on the dock. He could hear her _hmpf_ of indignation.

"Fish not biting?" he asked solicitously, handing a tea cup to Hermione before sitting down next to her with his own cup.

Hermione scrutinized Snape's expression, apparently trying to decide if he was teasing, or just making a simple inquiry. "There aren't any more fish because you and Brady Lawford have already caught them all," she grumbled. "Either that, or they're just not cooperating."

"Why should they cooperate? You're trying to catch them and eat them."

"Oh. So my motive's the problem," Hermione said wryly. "I don't suppose my technique has anything to do with it…"

Severus took a sip of tea. "Giving the fish a list of ten reasons why they should surrender and then expecting them to leap onto your hook isn't technique, Hermione."

"You see, that's what's wrong with fish. They just don't respond to logic."

"Imagine that," Severus teased, reaching out to tuck a windblown lock of her hair behind her ear and studying her profile as he did so. "Are you happy here?" he asked softly.

"Except for the fishing," she joked, then turned to him, eyes curious. "Very happy. Why do you ask?"

"I just wondered."

"I suppose the question is, are _you _happy? It's your home that I've invaded."

"For an invasion, it's certainly been tolerable so far." Severus gazed out across the lake. Finally, he said, "I suppose what I'm really asking is whether you're satisfied with the amount of affection I've been displaying toward you."

Hermione frowned. "I don't understand. Are you talking about when we're in bed?"

"No," Snape said quickly, his face heating up at once. This topic of conversation was completely foreign to him, and he was eager to end it as soon as possible. "I meant only the usual affection which - people who love each other - tend to display."

"You'll have to spell it out for me, Severus," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I'm just not following you."

He groaned inwardly, beginning to wish he'd never begun this. "I saw many of the students at Hogwarts participate in rather revolting public displays of affection over the years. I've always shied away from that, and -"

"So have I." Hermione nodded vigorously, catching his drift. "I was quite hurt by people putting their hormones on display, and I swore I'd never do that."

Snape grimaced. "There's more to this than mere bad manners, Hermione. My parents were poor role models when it came to showing love. The only things they displayed to each other were anger, and derision, and scorn. I don't remember a single time when they showed affection to one another. You've not behaved like an infatuated teen, and I appreciate that."

Hermione reached out to take his hand. "I haven't made you uncomfortable, have I?"

"No," he admitted. "You've been – quite restrained, compared to what I might have expected."

"And is that satisfactory to you?"

"Quite so. Is that – is that how you wish me to respond? I don't want to hurt you simply because I'm unaware of the appropriate behavior."

Hermione smiled and leaned closer so that she could kiss Severus on the cheek. "If you're comfortable with how I treat you, then I would be comfortable being treated in the same way. Does that make sense to you?"

"It does, actually," Severus said, relieved.

"You're not going to scare me off, dear heart."

Snape glanced at her sharply, a bolt of mild panic striking at once. Was 'dear heart' a reasonable term? It was the first time she'd ever called him anything of the sort. But if Hermione used the phrase – and he did recall now that she'd always seemed much more practical-minded than the rest of the hormone-infested herd of females at Hogwarts – then perhaps 'dear heart' was acceptable. Really, he thought, it was ridiculous to be fifty-four years old and totally oblivious to what was tasteful in the realm of romance…

"And," Hermione went on, "I really am happy here, Severus. And I'm perfectly capable of letting you know if I'm not."

Snape nodded at that. "It may not surprise you that to learn that I've never felt like this before. I think that this surely must qualify as happiness."

She sat bolt upright. "Severus!"

"What?"

"I just remembered – next Monday's Thanksgiving!"

"Thanksgiving?" he repeated blankly.

"We could have a special Thanksgiving dinner, couldn't we? Turkey, dressing, the works. We _do _have something for which to be thankful, you know."

From the way Hermione's eyes had lit up, Severus suspected that there was no retreat. Of course, if only a meal was involved, it shouldn't be too bad. "I've never celebrated it," he told her.

"I went to a Thanksgiving dinner last year. It was delightful." Hermione was looking thoughtful. "Perhaps we could invite Mr. Lawford and his wife. If the weather's good, they could fly up and join us. Do you know if they celebrate with family?"

"I honestly don't know, Hermione." It was the truth. Lawford had never mentioned Thanksgiving that Snape could recall.

"Perhaps I could call them from Trapper's Bay tomorrow. What do you think?"

Severus knew he was in trouble when Hermione hung a wreath on the front door of the cabin and put out some scented candles. The Thanksgiving turkey was cooking nicely in the oven, filling the spotless cabin with delicious odors. It was the very picture of domesticity, he thought. But it wasn't until Lawford and his wife arrived shortly after noon that Snape fully understood what was happening. As he watched Hermione greet the couple and welcome them warmly (albeit to their own home), he realized that this was more than having the landlord over for dinner. He and Hermione were a couple now, a twosome who were entertaining and 'having friends over'. It was a startling insight for the man whose primary social interactions had been faculty staff meetings and Death Eater gatherings.

Severus had met Marita Lawford only twice in the thirteen years that he'd lived at the cabin; the woman preferred city life, and he had often wondered why she hadn't convinced her husband to sell the cabin outright, given her predilection for the comforts of civilization. Marita was a tall, handsome woman whose shiny black hair – explained by Brady as resulting from her Eastern European heritage - was perpetually pulled back into a bun. She also had perfect posture, elegant cheekbones, and could appear either patronizing or regal, depending on whether Brady was in her good graces. Today, Snape decided, she was in her regal mode.

Brady Lawford had taken one look around the cabin and whistled appreciatively.

"Definitely has a woman's touch around here now," he muttered to Severus while poking him knowingly in the ribs with an elbow. Snape could only nod helplessly.

The dinner itself was a success, and Brady swore he didn't know which he liked more – Hermione's pumpkin pie or Sebastian's dressing and gravy. Marita pronounced it all delicious. After the meal, the four retired to the living room for coffee and general complaints about how too much food was consumed. At one point, Hermione was out of the room and Brady was on the dock checking something on the plane; it gave Marita Lawford the opportunity to study Severus curiously.

"Are you a wizard, Mr. Snow?" she asked.

Severus had years of experience in carefully schooling his expressions while responding to interrogations. This question, however, came out of the blue.

"Excuse me?" he asked faintly.

"I wondered if you were a wizard."

"Why would you wonder something like that?" Snape tried to feign ignorance. It wasn't easy; he was out of practice.

"Because of those owls sitting on the tree limb." Marita waved her arm toward the window, in the direction of a birch tree growing close to the cabin's deck. "I assume wizards still communicate by means of owl, do they not? My grandfather was a wizard. The only one in the family, as far as I know."

Severus saw where she was pointing and immediately spotted Minerva and Manitou perched side by side on a branch of the tree. There was also a third owl there, an unfamiliar bird which sat patiently, a message attached to its leg. The first words to cross Snape's mind were 'memory charm', and he thought, _Why not? Hermione and Brady are out of the room. It would be easy enough. _

In the end, he decided to hell with the Statutes of Secrecy. If the woman already knew about wizards - even had one in the family, for Merlin's sake - there was no point in playing coy.

"Yes," he said. "I am a wizard."

Marita beamed. "How lovely! I loved listening to Grandfather's stories about the world of magic. Your chemistry experiments – are they magical potions, then?"

Severus nodded wordlessly.

"Well, this certainly explains it."

"Explains what, Mrs. Lawford?"

"Your low utility bills, of course. We always wondered how you could live here and use so little power."

Snape blinked. "Mrs. Lawford -"

"Please… Marita, if you don't mind."

"Marita, is your husband aware that your grandfather was a wizard?"

The woman shook her head immediately. "No, no, not at all. We kept it secret, of course."

"As do I. I'd prefer that Brady not know. As I'm sure you can appreciate, the fewer people who know, the better."

"Of course." Marita nodded in earnest agreement, then her eyes lit up. "Does that mean that your Hermione is a witch?"

"Yes." Severus would rather that Hermione make her own admissions, but she was out of the room. There was no point in denying it. And, he thought, he rather liked the term 'your Hermione'… "One of the owls has a message. Will you excuse me?"

Snape rose from his chair and opened the sliding glass door. The fresh air smelled wonderful after the increasingly heavy aromas of turkey and scented candles. It was also good to be away from Marita Lawford, lest she start wanting details about his past. It was a stroke of luck that she was kindly disposed toward wizards, considering that two of them were living under her roof.

The foreign owl flapped its wings and glided from the tree branch to the deck railing, where it stuck out its leg. Snape unfastened the parchment and noted that it was addressed to Hermione.

"If you're patient, you may have a piece of leftover turkey," he told the bird.

As if it understood perfectly, the third owl flew back to rejoin the others.

It was late afternoon when Brady and Marita flew home. Hermione waved goodbye from the deck until the plane was a speck in the distance, then rejoined Severus in the living room.

"Tired?" she asked, finding him stretched out on the sofa.

"Exhausted," he muttered. "I'm glad they're gone. It reminds me why I prefer to live away from civilization."

Hermione sank into a chair, kicking her shoes off as she did so. "I'm beyond tired, I think. But everything was quite lovely, wasn't it?"

Severus grunted in response, then said, "Marita Lawford's grandfather was a wizard."

"He was? How did you discover that?" She stared at him blankly.

"She told me."

"I see," Hermione said, amused by the news. "What happened? Was there a lull in the conversation, and she tossed that tidbit out for a change of subject?"

Severus ignored the sarcasm. "She noticed the owls sitting outside and put two and two together. By the way, there's a letter for you on the kitchen counter."

Hermione sighed. Too tired to go searching for it, she brandished her wand and muttered "_Accio letter_!"

The parchment soared into her outstretched hand. She unfolded it and scanned the page.

And gasped aloud.

"What is it?" Severus opened his eyes again.

Hermione sat stock still, an expression of horror on her face. She opened her mouth once, twice, but her voice seemed to fail her.

"It's Ron," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "He's dead!"

**A/N: **Before a thousand people point out that Thanksgiving is always on a Thursday, I want to thank reader Viviana for supplying me with information about the Canadian Thanksgiving, which takes place on the second Monday in October.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter 15: Left Behind**_

Hermione spent the next morning preparing to leave for Britain. Severus spent the next morning trying to figure out what he was supposed to feel, think, or do.

The letter from Harry indicated that Ron died from a ruptured vessel in his brain – "_Apparently he frequently banged his head against the wall, trying to rid himself of all the voices, and something finally burst…_"– and was gone before the Healers knew what had happened. The news sent Hermione into a fresh round of grieving for her former husband, and Snape was helpless in the face of it. He'd barely become accustomed to sharing his home with Hermione, and now the ghost of Ron Weasley had moved in as well.

What was he to do, other than appear solemn and supportive? True, Hermione had divorced Weasley five years earlier, but not because of the loss of love that typified many failed marriages. Since Severus had never been enamored of Weasley in the first place, there was a good chance that Hermione would see any offered condolences as blatantly insincere. As a result, Snape spent much of the morning nodding in agreement that Life Was Unfair, and encouraging her to spend as much time in Britain as she needed. Inwardly, he was concerned: just the right amount of reminiscing and visiting would do Hermione a world of good, while too much of it might make her much less eager to return to Canada.

Finally, Hermione had packed a bag ("I gave away a ton of clothes when I quit work, and now I have almost nothing appropriate to wear!") and prepared to Apparate to the International Floo Facility in Montreal.

"I'll only be gone a few days," she reminded Severus, her brow furrowed with worry.

"Take as long as you need," he reassured her. "I'll be here when you get back."

Hermione had nodded, kissed Snape one last time, and Disapparated. The ringing silence in the aftermath of her departure was almost painful.

"I love you," Severus said quietly to no one.

* * *

The Floo Port of Greater Britain was a new facility; it had been under construction when Hermione left for Canada five years earlier. It was, she recalled, supposed to be more spacious than the old building. What she found was what seemed like wall-to-wall witches and wizards in various stages of coming and going. Yet even in a crowd like this, the messy black hair and glasses were hard to miss.

"Harry!" Hermione's eyes filled with tears at once as she hurled herself into her friend's arms.

"Hermione…" Harry Potter hugged her tightly, ignoring the crush of travelers swirling around them. Finally, he held her at arm's length and said, "It's good to see you, it really is!"

"I know." She dabbed hastily at her eyes. "I just wish it were under different circumstances."

"This place is wild. Let's get out of here, shall we?"

"Yes, let's."

"Is that your only piece of luggage?"

"Yes." Hermione started to hoist the bag onto her shoulder, but Harry took it from her hands immediately. "I'm afraid I didn't bring much," she told him. "I'll need to buy some new robes for the funeral."

"No problem." Harry steered her by the elbow toward the exit. "We can stop by Diagon Alley sometime."

"Has the date for the funeral been set?" Hermione greeted the prospect of shopping with little enthusiasm. She hadn't slept well last night, anticipating the coming emotional upheaval; the seven-hour time difference didn't help. She was frankly hoping to collapse into a bed at the earliest opportunity.

"Yes. It's day after tomorrow, at The Burrow."

The Burrow. Hermione thought sadly of the many happy times she had spent there, all of them in the distant past. Ron had been her friend for years and her husband for more years, and she had every right to be there at his funeral. And most of his family would be pleased to see her - Molly and Ginny being the primary exceptions – but it still reeked of going head to head with a herd of Dementors.

"Can you stay for longer than that?" Harry continued. "It's been forever since we've had a proper visit."

"I know. I can stay a short time, I think. Where _am_ I staying, by the way?" she asked, expecting to hear that Harry had booked her a room at the Leaky Cauldron.

"At my house."

Hermione looked up sharply. "At your house? Are you sure that's all right?"

"Of course it's all right," Harry said somewhat indignantly. "Ginny's taken Jamie on to the Burrow. And Sam's only just settled in at Hogwarts, so we decided that she would be better off staying there instead of coming home for the funeral. So it'll just be the two of us."

Hermione smiled at once. "How is Sam doing there? Enjoying herself?"

"Far too much, I think."

"House?"

Harry chuckled. "Gryffindor, of course. Need you ask?"

The next generation, beginning their education. Hermione suddenly felt very old. "At least they're learning in peacetime. The old place must be downright boring without a Dark Lord looming about," she commented.

"There are still enough nutters around to keep things interesting. You should see the Wanted Board at Auror Headquarters. At least they're not after anyone at the school, as far as we know." Harry motioned toward a corridor at the far end of the bustling rotunda that they were crossing. "That's the way to the local Floos. I can't wait until you get unpacked and we can get caught up."

Caught up. Hermione didn't think Harry would like the news she had to impart, but perhaps she could put him off until tomorrow.

* * *

The Potter home in Kent was everything that Harry Potter deserved. From the approach via lush green lane to the ivy-covered brick house surrounded by rose bushes, it was the type of idyllic English cottage that tourists found utterly enchanting. And it was the place where Harry had finally found the home and family for which he'd always longed.

Hermione stood in the lounge, surprised by how small the cottage seemed after the soaring ceilings and open spaces of the cabin. The clattering of footsteps told her that Harry had finished toting her bag upstairs. He appeared in the doorway, looking immensely pleased at the chance to reconnect with one of his oldest friends.

"Okay, then," he said, rubbing his hands together as he entered the lounge. "What can I get for you? A butterbeer? Firewhiskey? Coffee? Tea?"

"Just some water, if you don't mind," Hermione said.

"Just water?" Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Please. I'm just thirsty. I don't know why, but traveling long distances by Floo always makes me so dry."

"All right, water it is. And don't just stand there, have a seat." He flashed her a boyish grin and disappeared into the kitchen.

Hermione ignored his order and wandered over to the fireplace, drawn there by the framed photographs lining the mantel. There were pictures of Samantha and Jamie taken at various ages: Samantha, with her red hair so like Ginny's… Jamie's dark curls conjuring images of Harry… both children with bright green eyes, smiling and waving at the camera. There were other pictures as well, all of various Weasleys. Molly and Arthur laughed from one frame, while in another, Fred and George brandished an award naming them Wizarding Businesspersons of the Year. Bill and Fleur posed with their three daughters. Percy and Penelope, Charlie, other wives, other nieces and nephews.

And Ron.

Hermione recognized the picture of Ron; it had been taken at George's wedding, just six months before their own. Dear Ron: tall, but no longer gangly, a head-full of wavy red hair, the short beard he'd sported for a while, the broad smile and dancing eyes. Hermione's eyes welled up with tears once more. The tears were not unexpected, given what was _not_ on the mantle – a picture of herself. _Damn it_, she cried silently, _I didn't want any of this, Ginny. I didn't intend to hurt you or your family. I couldn't stay with Ron any more, I couldn't. That doesn't mean I stopped loving him, -_

"Here you go." Harry reappeared, two glasses of water in his hands. "You checking out the pictures?"

"Yes." Hermione tried to compose herself. "Are – ah – the ones of the children fairly recent?"

"Fairly," Harry agreed, gesturing toward a photograph of Samantha. "That was taken back in the spring."

"She's grown so much since I saw her last. And she's quite the young lady, isn't she?"

"She's going to stop the boys in their tracks, I think," Harry said, the pride and delight obvious in his voice.

"And Jamie – what a little imp!"

"That's the right word, all right. He's a mischief-maker, Jamie is." Harry sobered. "He's had a rough go of it the past six weeks, with Sam being away at school now. Although I think he's just starting to realize that life can be pretty good without an older sister to torment you."

"I'm really looking forward to see him." Hermione took a sip of water. "Tell me, do the Weasleys know I'm here?"

Harry perched on the arm of the sofa, fingering his own glass and not quite meeting her eyes. "Arthur asked me to owl you about Ron. I told him that I intended to invite you. No one raised any objections."

"Is that why Ginny's already left? She didn't want to see me before she had to?" The words slipped out.

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous," Harry told her, frowning.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm really tired. I didn't sleep well at all last night."

"I understand. I didn't sleep too well myself. Poor Ron… Who would have thought it would come to this?"

"I know. It seems like just yesterday that we were all starting at Hogwarts, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry said soberly.

They lapsed into silence, and Hermione decided that tomorrow would be soon enough to reminisce.

"Would you mind terribly if I went to bed early? I'll be in much better spirits tomorrow morning."

"Of course." Harry stood. "Look, let's both get a good night's sleep, and then we'll have a good breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron. What do you think?"

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." Relieved, Hermione gave him a quick hug. "I'm in Sam's room, you said?"

"That's right. Just call if you need anything, all right?"

"Absolutely."

"You remember which one is Sam's room, right?"

Grinning, Hermione punched him lightly in the arm. "I've been here a million times, Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, but not lately. If you're expecting pink and frilly, think again. She's seriously into Quidditch now."

Hermione awoke to find a ceiling of white plaster instead of wooden timbers above her narrow bed. While birds sang outside the window, there were no loons calling to each other, no sparkle of sunlight on a blue lake. She lay there long enough to figure out that it was still the middle of the night at the cabin, and she wondered if Severus was sleeping well. One glance at the clock told her that she'd slept a good ten hours, yet her sleep had been riddled with odd dreams. In one, Severus was at the Burrow, cooking a Northern Pike he'd caught and telling the Weasleys that Hermione was a terrible fisherman, albeit a rather good cook. Then Ron had walked in, demanded that Ginny teach Hermione to fish, and asked Harry if his picture was still on the mantle. Another dream had Alma Hobbs circling Harry's home on a broomstick, calling out to Hermione and begging her to move to South America.

She dragged herself from the bed, showered and dressed, then went downstairs to find Harry in the kitchen, poring over the _Daily Prophet_ while he toyed with his cup of coffee. Seeing an unused cup sitting by the coffeepot, Hermione poured herself a cup.

"Good morning," she said, taking a seat at the table.

"'Morning." Harry flashed her a grin. "Feeling better?"

"You have no idea. Amazing what a good night's sleep will do for you."

"I'll say. Still up for Diagon Alley?"

"Yes." Hermione stirred her coffee, her eyebrows knit together in a frown. "Don't you have to work today?"

"Funeral leave."

"Mmm."

Harry folded up the newspaper, put it down on the table, and stretched hugely. "So, what about you? Did you have any problems getting off work to come here?"

Hermione dropped her eyes to the swirling brown liquid in her cup. "No. I didn't have any problems, because I'm not working any more."

"What?" Harry paused in mid-stretch. "Not working? What do you mean?"

She'd hoped to have this conversation during breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron, where there would be people and noise about, where Harry was less likely to hit the roof.

"I quit my job, Harry. I hated it. Absolutely hated it."

"I'm not surprised. You've not exactly sought out the worthier jobs since you left here."

Hermione fingered her coffee cup idly, hunting for the best way to ease into the explanation. _Assuming there is one_, she thought. "Harry, I couldn't stay in Britain any more. You know that."

"That, I understand. What I don't understand is why you've felt the need to settle for positions so obviously beneath you. You're Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake. You could run the wizarding world if you wanted to." Harry waved one hand in the air to make his point.

If there was one thing that Hermione had tired of over the years, it was being lauded for her intelligence and potential. Admirable as those traits were, garnering her much attention while in school, they'd done absolutely nothing to prevent Ron's accident, nor saved her parents and a host of others lost in that last year of fighting against Voldemort.

"For the last time, Harry, I don't want to run the wizarding world," she snapped. "And why is it a crime to take jobs that are supposedly 'beneath me'? I just wanted to try other things, that's all."

Harry sighed. "Sorry, I'll never bring it up again. So what _are _you doing now?"

When Hermione hesitated a brief moment before opening her mouth to respond, he knew the answer at once. "No. Please tell me you haven't moved in with Snape!"

Hermione glared at him. "If you don't like that idea, then I can guarantee you'll positively hate the rest of what I have to tell you!"

Harry slumped back in his chair, stunned. "You and Snape…?"

"Yes," Hermione said indignantly. "'Me and Snape'. Harry, stop looking at me like I've gone 'round the twist. I'm in full command of my faculties, and so is he."

"Just because you spent a couple of weekends at his place to get away from it all, why did you have to become -" Harry seemed to hunt for the most tasteful phrasing possible, "- involved with the man?"

"Did you even read my letters?"

"Yes, but you weren't exactly generous with the details!"

"Maybe because I knew you'd react like this!"

Harry pushed his coffee cup away, scowling. "Hermione, I'd like to understand. Really I would. Even taking into account the fact that I've hated Snape from Day One."

She smiled faintly. "You trust me, right?"

"Don't be daft. I'd be dead if I hadn't trusted you."

"Then trust me one more time. Please? Severus is not the same man he once was, any more than you or I are the same as we were fifteen years ago."

Harry visibly recoiled at her use of Snape's first name. "I suppose you're expecting me to believe that he's a wonderful humanitarian?"

"Well, no. I rather imagine that the term 'curmudgeon' will always apply to him, but the vitriol isn't there any more. He's run out of hatred, Harry," Hermione said, her expression beseeching him to believe her.

All of the days, the months, the years, spent hating the ground that Snape walked on… Harry shook his head in disbelief. "And you actually find him attractive?"

She had to pause to order her thoughts. "He's – attractive as a whole person. He can be kind and gentle, and – it's rather charming, really – he doesn't know exactly how to respond to affection. He doesn't know what's too little, or what's too much…"

"Hermione, I really don't think I want to have some of these mental images floating around in my head," Harry began.

"Fine. Believe what you want. But Harry, here's the thing: I'm happy at the cabin, and I'm happy being with Severus. Can you accept that? Even if you can't accept him?"

He reached hesitantly for Hermione's hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. "If you're happy, then I'm happy for you. I just hate the thought of seeing you hurt again."

Hermione managed an awkward smile. "Believe me, I don't want to be hurt again either, Harry. I'm just saying that for now, I need to be with him."

"You're sure that you don't want to check the job board at the Ministry while you're in Britain? You could probably land a big office somewhere, have a cozy cottage like this, settle down and finally have a few kids..." Harry looked hopeful.

Hermione's heart contracted painfully. Harry hadn't got the point at all. "Harry, I'm here because I should be here for Ron, and for you. And then I'm going back to Canada."


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter 16: Putting the Dead to Rest**_

Hermione knelt by the fresh mound of earth to drop a single rose onto it. She seemed to recall that, following her grandfather's funeral, it had taken weeks for a headstone to be placed at the grave. But the Muggle world was not the magical world, of course, and there was already a slab of stone present:

_Ronald Bilius Weasley_

_Born 1 March, 1980_

_Died 10 October, 2013_

_He Will Always Be Loved_

Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she made the mistake of trying to climb to her feet and wipe them away at the same time. Someone caught her elbow and helped her upright.

"Thanks," Hermione muttered, then glanced up to see who had rescued her. "Remus!"

"Hello, Hermione," Remus Lupin said kindly. "It's good to see you."

"You, too." Despite the circumstances, it _was _good to see her former teacher and friend. She noted that Lupin's hair was completely gray now, but he no longer bore the air of weariness that had plagued him so often in years past. Hermione gave him a warm hug and kissed him on the cheek. "How are you doing?"

erm

"Quite well, thanks. Are you going back to the house for lunch?"

"Yes."

"May I walk with you?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course."

Remus took her hand and tucked it under his elbow. "This is a sad day, isn't it?"

"The whole thing has been one huge, sad affair."

"It certainly has."

"How are you?" Lupin asked. "It's been ages since we've seen you. What has it been, four years?"

"Five years, I'm afraid."

"Five years. Imagine…"

Hermione looked up to see a woman with vivid blue hair hurrying excitedly toward her. "Tonks! Hello!"

Nymphadora Tonks Lupin hugged Hermione tightly. "Hermione! You look smashing! Canada must agree with you."

"It does, thanks. How are the twins?"

"Away," Tonks moaned, looking stricken. "My babies are at Hogwarts! They're the same age as Harry's daughter, you know."

Remus chuckled. "She's not taking it very well," he pointed out. "Can you tell?"

"Which house are they in?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Houses," Lupin corrected. "Sirius is in Gryffindor and Ted is in Hufflepuff."

"So you have split loyalties, then?"

"We've decided to view it as an exercise in building character and encouraging communication," Tonks said. "The boys weren't too happy at first, but now they're thrilled to fits to be rid of each other for a brief while. So, what are you doing now?"

_That _question. Hermione drew herself up a bit taller. "I'm taking a break right now."

"Good for you." Remus nodded approvingly. "I'm doing some editing - textbooks, you know."

"Harry told me. I think it's wonderful. It sounds like a perfect job for you."

"And," Tonks added, her eyes sparkling, "he's writing his own book. Did you know that?"

"No, really?"

Remus was unfazed by his wife's exuberance. "It's true," he admitted, a clear note of pride in his voice. "A text on defence."

"That's really great," Hermione began, just as Tonks's attention was caught by a woman waving in the distance.

"Oh, there's Leila. Would you two excuse me?"

"Of course."

Remus turned back to Hermione. "I was really hoping that you'd be able to come, Hermione."

"I had to. I'm just worried about what people are thinking."

"What do you mean?" he asked, surprised. "You were his wife. You should be here."

"I know…"

Lupin's face darkened. "Has Molly been difficult?"

"There hasn't been time." When Hermione and Harry had Apparated to the Burrow that morning, a steady stream of mourners had prevented all but the most general of conversations. Arthur and Percy, Bill and Charlie, had greeted Hermione warmly. Fred and George had been pleasant enough, but Ginny was clearly restrained and Molly, frankly cool.

Remus sighed. "I'm not defending Molly, Hermione. But she's had a horrible time of it. She made it through the war without losing a single family member, only to have Ron institutionalized for years. And now this..."

Hermione blinked back tears. "I don't know how to make things better for her, Remus."

"There is no way to make things better. You know that."

They walked silently for a few moments. Finally, Hermione spoke.

"There's something else…"

"Oh?" Lupin squeezed her hand.

"I've been so miserable, Remus. I've had five jobs in five years, one worse than the next. The only peace I've found has been at a cabin out in the woods. I quit my job so I could stay there."

"Isn't it rather boring, being all alone in the wilderness?" he inquired.

"I'm not alone. I met someone…"

"Hermione!" Remus sounded delighted. "That's wonderful. I was hoping that you would find someone, although it doesn't sound like you to give up your career just like that."

"Well, that's the thing," she said nervously. "You're going to hate this, Remus…"

"Oh? Why?"

Hermione swallowed. "It's Severus Snape."

Lupin stopped in mid-step to stare at Hermione. "Well," he said, his chuckle sounding forced. "I can't say I saw that coming."

"I'm sure you didn't."

"Snape… How…?"

Hermione explained how she'd come across Severus in the course of her job. How the wilderness had begun to heal her wounded soul. How, in the end, more than the peace of the North Woods had compelled her to return there.

Remus regarded Hermione thoughtfully when she finished. "He's changed, you say?"

"He has. Look, I know you two never saw eye-to-eye…"

"That's the understatement of the century," Lupin teased. "Hermione, you're an intelligent woman. If you say that Snape's changed, then I believe you."

"You do?" The simple declaration startled her.

"I do. And if you say that he makes you happy, then I'm all for it."

"You are?"

Remus lowered his voice. "Don't let anyone know that I told you this, but it always seemed that you two would be a good match."

Hermione was stunned. "Are you serious?"

"Why not? You're his equal in intelligence. You share his passion for Potions. And you're both just a bit out of the mainstream…"

She couldn't help smiling. "Is that a polite way of saying that neither of us won any popularity awards at school?"

"Neither did I, you know," Remus teased. "You two are really more alike than you know, Hermione. The difference is that you had a good childhood and learned early on how to get along socially. Severus never had that advantage."

Hermione thought this over. "Why don't you hate him, Remus? You've always gone out of your way to defend him. You, of all people, should have every right to despise him."

Lupin chuckled. "You sound like Harry. He asked me that once. Of course, Harry's point of view was somewhat colored by what he knew of Snape's relationship with his father. Snape is Snape, and while he may have changed and mellowed, he will never become everyone's favorite person."

"Nor does he want to be," Hermione admitted.

"There you go, then. If the two of you find happiness together, then more power to you. Speaking of Harry, have you told him?"

"Yes. Needless to say, it went over like a lead balloon."

"You're not surprised, are you?"

"Not in the least."

"The question is," Remus said as The Burrow loomed before them, "are you going to tell Molly about Severus?"

"I suppose I'll have to, won't I?" Hermione mused.

"Better that she hear it from you."

Hermione sighed deeply. "I don't know if this is the best time for that."

"I think it's quite possibly the worst time. Just let her know soon, even if it's by letter." With that, Remus opened the door, and they joined the group of people crowding into The Burrow.

* * *

It took nearly two hours for the crowd to thin, giving Hermione a chance to approach Molly Weasley. By that time, she had realized that whatever Molly's response to her, it would soon be time to leave for Harry's house, therefore limiting the confrontation.

"You're looking rather pensive," a voice said, and Hermione found a sadly smiling Arthur Weasley at her side.

"Does it show?" she responded.

"Rather obviously."

"I need to talk to her, Arthur."

"Molly, you mean?"

"Yes."

Arthur leaned in to kiss Hermione on the cheek. "She doesn't bite, Hermione. It can be rather like confronting a nasty-tempered hippogriff, but she has a good heart."

"I know." Hermione smiled, and moved off to the kitchen. There, she found Molly trying to refill a tray of sandwiches. "Hello, Molly. I -"

"Oh, Hermione. Can you put that bowl of potato salad on the table for me?"

Hermione glanced around at the rapidly thinning crowd inside The Burrow. "Are you sure you need more food?"

"Of course. Can't let people go hungry, now can I?" Molly Weasley barely glanced up from what she was doing.

Hermione sighed and put the potato salad on the table. Returning, she said, "Why don't I do some of these dishes, Molly?"

"You don't have to, dear."

"I know I don't have to. I thought it might give us a chance to talk."

"Talk?" Molly's smile was forced. "What about?"

"About Ron." With that, Hermione plucked a sponge from the sink and began scrubbing at the first dirty pot that she saw. "I loved him, Molly. You know I did."

"Of course. You were perfect for each other. I could see that from the start."

Hermione glanced at her former mother-in-law sharply. In the space of one day, she'd been declared an ideal match for two very different men. For a girl who had never been wildly popular with the male sex, it was a bit unnerving. "I wish it could have turned out differently, you know."

Molly didn't look up from the sandwiches she was making. "That's neither here nor there, now is it, dear?"

"I loved Ron, Molly. I'll always love him."

There was no immediate answer, and Hermione felt compelled to keep talking.

"He was my first love," she went on. "I was so crazy about him, -"

"– that you divorced him," Molly answered calmly.

Hermione's heart sank. "I wish you could understand."

"So do I."

With that, Molly Weasley placed the sandwich tray on the table and marched upstairs.

She did not return.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Chapter 17: Coping with Reality_**

Harry didn't return home from The Burrow until dusk was falling. He started up to the bedroom, only to find a brooding Hermione sitting halfway up the stairs, her back against the wall and her feet propped on one of the balusters.

"Can't decide whether to go up or down?" he inquired dryly.

"I was thinking about going to bed, actually. Ginny didn't come back with you?" Hermione asked.

"She and Jamie will be along shortly." Harry peeled off his robes and tossed them over the banister, taking a seat on one of the lower stairs. "Well. This is rather comfortable."

"I thought so."

"I hear that Molly didn't exactly welcome you with open arms."

Hermione managed a wry smile. "Who told you that?"

"Percy."

"He was very kind. He actually apologized for his mother's behavior." Stunned by Molly Weasley's brush-off, Hermione had stood flat-footed and embarrassed in the middle of The Burrow's kitchen until Percy came over and escorted her to the garden for some fresh air.

Harry loosened his tie. "Percy's turned out to be a pretty good bloke. Who would have thought it, back when he was being such a pompous ass?"

"See?" Hermione said, poking him in the shoulder. "People can change."

"I'm sorry, but thinking of Severus Snape as a pretty good bloke is a bit beyond me right now, Hermione. It's been a very long day."

"Then you'll just have to trust me on that one, won't you?"

"I suppose. Things have always worked out pretty well when I've trusted you," Harry admitted with mock solemnity.

"For the most part," Hermione agreed.

"Poor Molly…" Harry shifted to a more comfortable position. "Do you remember back in fourth year, when Rita Skeeter published all those lies about you? And Molly didn't take it at all well, because she assumed that you and I were an item? I think she had you pegged for Ron for as far back as I can remember."

"Harry, I pegged myself for Ron as far back as _I _can remember. I think that's what galls me about this whole situation. I didn't divorce him so that I could marry someone else, or have a glamorous career. And I certainly didn't divorce him because I stopped loving him."

"You were on the verge of a nervous collapse, Hermione. You had to move on."

Hermione nodded, recalling only too well the horrific sense of suffocation that had possessed her from the moment of Ron's collapse and continued until her flight to Canada. The guilt had been unbearable.

"You want Molly to come around so that everyone can be one big happy family, and it's just not going to happen," Harry continued.

"We used to be one big happy family," she murmured, idly rubbing the tread of the stair next to her with one finger.

"Yeah. We used to be…" Harry's voice trailed off. "Maybe it was too good to be true."

"Maybe."

"Do you want to grab a bit to eat? I could Floo the Burrow, and if Ginny's going to be a while, maybe we could go somewhere –"

Hermione shook her head. "Thanks, but no. I really think I'll just head on to bed. Harry…"

"Hmm?"

"Never mind. I'll talk to Ginny tomorrow."

* * *

Hermione had had no time to hold any reasonable conversation with Ginny Potter at the Burrow the day of the funeral. When she came down to breakfast the next morning, she wasn't sure which Ginny she would be facing: the one who had sided with Molly Weasley years earlier over the divorce, or the reasonable, objective Ginny whom Hermione knew from happier times.

"Good morning, Aunt Hermione." Jamie Potter regarded her cheerfully from his seat at the dining room table.

"Good morning, Jamie. How are you today?"

"Fine." The little boy poked a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"Did you have nice dreams last night?" Hermione inquired.

"I don't remember," he said. "Did you?"

She hadn't, but Hermione merely smiled and nodded.

"Good morning, Hermione." Ginny appeared in the kitchen door. "Breakfast?"

"Yes, thank you." Hermione regarded Jamie's sweetened, colorful cereal with suspicion. "Some porridge, possibly?"

"Of course." Ginny nodded.

"I bet Samantha's eating porridge at Hogwarts," Jamie announced.

"That could well be," Hermione said. "They have all sorts of food. Everything you could possibly want."

"Do they have Oatie Owls?" he demanded, glancing down at his bowl.

In the kitchen, Ginny made a faint gagging noise. Hermione grinned. "I don't recall that they served Oatie Owls," she told him. "But they had lots of other wonderful things."

Jamie sighed lugubriously, as though the lack of Oatie Owls was the determining factor in his future academic career. "Mummy," he called, "may I play a while before lessons?"

"Yes, you may, and thank you for asking first."

After one more bite of the nutritionally dubious cereal, Jamie hopped down from his chair and raced upstairs. Hermione watched him go, smiling broadly.

"He's wonderful, Ginny."

"Yes," Ginny said, "he is. It's not too late, you know. There's still time for you to have one."

"Oh." Hermione blushed. "I don't know, -"

"Any prospects in Canada?"

Hermione turned even redder. 'Well, there _is _someone…"

"Then there's still time."

To Hermione's immense relief, Ginny dropped the subject. She sat in silence at the table while Ginny prepared breakfast, trying to organize her thoughts. Yet when her dish was finally put in front of her, Hermione found herself not knowing where to start.

"Ginny, could we talk?"

"We _were _talking, weren't we?" Surprised, Ginny pulled out the chair across the table and sat down.

"Yes, well… I wanted to talk about Ron. Actually, about your mother. She's never forgiven me for divorcing him. And I'm not sure that you've forgiven me, either." Hermione fingered her napkin nervously.

Ginny seemed to search carefully for the right words. "My mother can be a stubborn, meddling woman."

"Oh…" Hermione was embarrassed now. "No, not at all. I didn't mean to imply that."

"Hermione, it's the truth," Ginny said, exasperated. "Everybody knows it. Look, she doesn't forgive disloyalty easily. Even when Percy came back to us, she ran around like a crazy woman doing all the maternal things - cooking for him, mending his clothes, that sort of thing. But I don't know that she ever came right out and forgave him for what he did."

"Ginny, I wasn't disloyal to Ron. I loved him, but I couldn't live with the guilt any more. I couldn't!"

"My mother saw it as desertion." Ginny gave Hermione a measured look. "And frankly, so did I. What else were we to think? You divorced Ron as though he was an inconvenience to you, and then you raced out of Britain as fast as you could."

"But I – I didn't mean – it was – just a case of timing," Hermione sputtered. "I had a chance to go, and I took it!"

"Well, it certainly looked as if you had taken the money and run."

"What money?"

"The money from your joint bank account at Gringotts."

"I only took a small amount to get started in Canada!" Hermione cried. "I didn't touch the rest. It was for Ron's custodial care!"

Ginny shrugged. "We didn't know that at first. Mum thought you'd taken everything."

"_What_? That's ridiculous!"

"I know. But by the time all the facts were sorted out, you were already on her bad side."

Hermione rubbed her face wearily. She had been so eager to leave the past and begin a new life that she _had_ left for Canada rather abruptly. It hadn't been intended as a deliberate display of indifference. "Ginny, I didn't – I couldn't – oh, damn!"

"Come on, Hermione, it was a horribly emotional time for everyone."

"I know that!" Hermione persisted, tears welling up in her eyes. "Look, Ginny, I just wish that you and your mother could forgive me."

"I forgave you a long time ago." Ginny looked perplexed. "Why would you think I hadn't?"

"You never wrote or gave any indication that you cared about me, -"

"Well, neither did you. You haven't exactly been the world's greatest correspondent, you know."

"- and getting rid of my picture off the mantelpiece is _really_ hurtful, do you know that?" Hermione continued.

There was a ringing silence. Ginny blinked. "What?"

"You have fifty million pictures on your mantel, and not one of them is of me!" Hermione's voice cracked. To her disbelief, Ginny began to laugh.

"Oh, Hermione… Samantha took it to Hogwarts, along with an entire stack of family photos. Harry even teased her about it. He asked her if she thought she'd never see any of us again, -"

The air seemed to vanish from the room. "Then – you didn't – she took it -"

"Yes."

Hermione put a hand to her mouth and burst into tears. "Oh, no," she wailed, "I feel like such an idiot!"

The next thing she knew, Ginny was leaning over to wrap her arms around her in a warm embrace. Hermione sobbed helplessly, unable to contain the emotions that overflowed. "Ginny, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry about Ron, I never would have hurt him for the world, -"

"Sssh. I know, I know…"

"Your mother hates me, she'll never forgive me, -"

"It's all right, Hermione. Sssh…"

It was five minutes more before Hermione could finally stop crying. Neither heard Jamie come into the room and stand, open-mouthed and staring at them.

"Mummy, are you and Aunt Hermione all right?"

Ginny, her own cheeks wet, managed a shaky laugh. "Yes, darling. We're fine."

"You're sad about Uncle Ron, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded, her lip trembling. "Yes, sweetheart. We're very sad about Uncle Ron."

* * *

There was one more stop that Hermione wanted to make before leaving Britain.

"Hogwarts?" Harry guessed, but Hermione shook her head.

"No. I don't want to go back, I really don't. I wouldn't even know the teachers any more. Minerva's gone, Flitwick's retired…"

"Sprout's still there," Ginny said. With a wink, she added, "And I hear that Snape is over in Canada somewhere."

"Rumour has it," Hermione said with a smile.

"Where is it you want to go, then?" Harry asked her.

* * *

They went with her, to the cemetery that was well-kept and peaceful, to the graves marked "Hugh Granger" and "Helena Granger". Hermione knelt there, placing flowers by the headstone, contemplating her life since their deaths.

"We were so young then, weren't we?" she mumbled to Harry.

Harry put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "Yes," he murmured. "We were so young."

"I'd like a moment alone…"

"Of course." He gave her a quick hug, then took Ginny by the hand and the two of them wandered away.

Hermione stared at the graves, her throat constricted almost too much to speak. "Mum… Dad… I – I can't stay. I live somewhere else now. I just wanted you to know that I've found someone. It's Severus – Professor Snape. He was my Potions teacher, you know. He's – ah – a good man. He's been through hell and back, and – ah – I wish you could have known him. I mean, you _did_ know him, in that you heard me talk about him a lot. Of course, I didn't have very good things to say about him back then… He's – changed, he's different, he's a decent human being, and I love him. Very much. I just wanted to stop by here while I was in Britain and tell you."

Hermione paused to brush a tear from her cheek. "Ron is gone, but you may already know that. I wish – I only wish he hadn't had to suffer for so many years. I know it's technically not my fault, but that doesn't make me feel any better about it… Anyway, if – ah – you should happen to run into him – wherever you all are – could you tell him that I'll always love him?"

She turned to go. "I love you, Mummy. I love you, Daddy. Rest well."


	18. Chapter 18

**_Chapter 18: Eleven_**

Severus glanced at the clock, cursing inwardly as he did so. After yesterday, he had sworn to avoid clockwatching if he had to chuck the odious timepiece into the lake.

Yesterday, the longest day that he could remember in a very long while.

Hermione's letter had indicated that she would return either Saturday or Sunday, depending on what else she needed to accomplish while in Britain. The note was short and to the point, and while Snape wasn't expecting a lengthy letter detailing Weasley's funeral and Hermione's reunion with the idiot Potter, some variation of the phrase 'I miss you terribly' would have been appreciated. He didn't know what to think; the woman's five-day absence had affected him more deeply than he could have ever imagined.

No off-key humming from the shower. No scent of floral sachet being emitted from opened drawers. No cold feet nestled behind him at night. No smile to light up the day. Severus missed the smiles, especially; the week had been a rainy one, and Hermione's absence meant the cabin seemed depressingly dark and gloomy.

And the very fact that he was contemplating these things both thrilled and annoyed him. Snape would have been pleased by his newfound ability to care so deeply, were he not mortified by the thought of turning into the sort of sentimental weakling. It had been only six or seven weeks since Hermione had moved in, but Severus suspected that he was on the verge of losing the ability to act independently. For a man who had lived alone - and liked it – for thirteen years, the metamorphosis from recluse to lover was both startling and a bit frightening. He vowed to get the upper hand on his emotions before he became completely spineless.

It all came to a head yesterday, when he'd waited all day for Hermione to arrive.

And she didn't.

Snape was furious with himself for being so hopeful, so damnably vulnerable. After all, her letter had said Saturday _or_ Sunday. And if something came up, there was every possibility that she would be further delayed. Severus swore that when Hermione arrived – _whenever she arrived_ – he would take it in stride, as if she'd merely gone to Trapper's Bay for a loaf of bread.

He was working in the cellar lab Sunday morning, when he heard the pop of someone Apparating near the front door. Taking a deep breath, Snape forced himself to walk slowly and deliberately up the path to the cabin.

"Severus!" Beaming, Hermione hurled herself into his arms. "How are you? I'm so glad to be home!"

_Control_, he told himself, _control. _"I'm pleased that you're back," Snape said, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

"So am I," Hermione said fervently. "How have you been?"

"Fine," he assured her, and bent down to pick up her bag. "Let's get inside. It looks ready to pour down at any moment."

"All right." Hermione ran up the steps, took one look at the door, and turned back to Severus with a happy smile on her face. "You left the wreath! I was wondering if you'd take it down while I was gone."

Severus glanced at the wreath Hermione had hung for the Thanksgiving dinner. He'd teased her about it unmercifully when she first put it up, saying that it was the penultimate mark of domesticity, lagging just behind his-and-her pillowcases. "I thought I might let it stay," he admitted grudgingly, trailing behind her into the cabin.

"Oh, it's so _good_ to be home!" Hermione repeated, making a beeline for the bedroom. "I want to change my clothes. I know the International Floos are supposed to be cleaner than the domestic ones, but I still feel grimy."

Snape put her bag down just outside the bedroom door. Despite the fact that he and Hermione had been sharing a bed for weeks now, he felt strongly about modesty when it came to simple things like dressing and undressing. He did not want Hermione present when he changed clothes, and gave her privacy when she did the same. He liked to tell himself that it was because of all the scars he'd accumulated doing Voldemort's bidding; the truth was simply that he was in no way proud of his fifty-four year old body, other than being mildly impressed that it still served him well after all the abuse it had undergone.

"How did things go?" he inquired through the half-closed door.

"It was tolerable. I had a nice talk with Ginny, but Molly still refuses to speak with me about Ron. Why don't you put on a pot of tea, and I'll tell you about it."

"I'll put on the tea, but then I need to go downstairs and check the cauldrons."

"Check the cauldrons? It's Sunday." The surprise was evident in Hermione's voice.

Severus glared at the door. He rarely brewed on Sundays, but if he chose to do so, what difference did it make? He didn't need to answer to Hermione Granger, regardless of his feelings for her. Without answering, Snape turned on his heel and went in search of the teapot. In short order, the water was heating and he was back in the cellar lab.

Outside, a cold drizzle had begun to fall. Severus left the cellar door open for additional air and light, then perched on a stool in front of a bubbling cauldron. The cauldron didn't actually need a lot of attention, but he felt better in the familiar environment of the lab. It wasn't like this insane romance business; at least he knew who he was and what was expected of him in a Potions laboratory.

A few minutes later, Hermione arrived with two mugs of steaming tea, and Severus felt his resistance waver. She had her hair pinned up in a glorious mess with tendrils escaping hither and yon, and she wore the oversized green sweater that looked so utterly fetching. And the scent of flowers…

"Here you go." Hermione handed him one of the mugs, then perched on the stool next to him. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing important. Some Pepperup." Severus said, taking a sip of the tea. It was hot, and burned all the way down his throat.

"Mmm. I guess it's that time of year, isn't it?"

"How were the Weasleys?"

"Quite well, for the most part. I think I'm going to write to Molly and tell her that I've apologized enough. What's past is past."

"Do you think she'll respond to that?"

"I have no idea, but at least I'll have spoken my mind. There's nothing else I can do." Hermione propped one foot on a higher stool rung and hugged her knee to her. "Ginny was… fine, as I said upstairs. I think we had simply stopped communicating. We originally had our differences about the divorce, but she'd moved on and I'd moved on, and neither of us knew that because I'd hardly ever owled her, and their owls to me had usually come from Harry. He'd hardly ever touched on the subject of how Ginny felt, because there was always so much more to discuss."

Severus felt his brain going numb. Women. Why was it that they found communication simultaneously fascinating and impossible?

"And how is Mr. Potter?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

"He's doing well. Head of the Auror Office now."

"Imagine my surprise."

"And," Hermione continued, "their oldest – Samantha – is a first-year at Hogwarts this year. And I saw Remus and Tonks; their twin sons are first-years also. Can you believe that they could be old enough to go to Hogwarts already?"

"What I can believe," Severus said dryly, "is that that alone is reason to be grateful that I'm no longer teaching. How was the funeral?"

The happy expression vanished from Hermione's face. "It was a funeral. Sad. I think most were relieved that Ron's no longer suffering."

He looked at her appraisingly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. But you know the saying, 'you can't go home again'?"

"Yes."

"It was like that," she said simply. "I felt as if I didn't belong there any more."

"And where do you belong?" Severus cursed himself for voicing the question.

"Here, with you." Hermione's voice was matter-of-fact. "Unless you've changed your mind…"

"Changed my mind?" he repeated, bewildered. "Why would you think I've changed my mind?"

"I don't know. I just thought you might be a little happier to see me, that's all."

"Believe me, Hermione, I'm positively delighted to see you."

It was the right answer, but the wrong delivery: too cool, too sarcastic, too Snape. Severus could see that at once when a flicker of hurt appeared on Hermione's face. Damn it all… Now things were _really _degenerating, he thought darkly. Snape remembered overhearing whinging girls at Hogwarts: _Are you sure you really love me, Davy? Tommy? Gerald? Julius?_ He'd always felt sorry for the poor sods on the receiving end who so desperately blubbered their reassurances.

Hermione merely nodded and slid off her stool, crossing her arms in front of her. "I think I'll see about doing my laundry."

"Hermione…" Snape extinguished the flame under the cauldron and climbed to his feet, frustrated to no end by the conversation as well as the battle within himself. "Wait."

"Yes?"

She was regarding him with a troubled expression now, and Severus suspected that things could blow up in his face at any moment. And, perversely, he could think of nothing to say. "I'll be up shortly," he managed after an awkward silence.

Hermione started towards the doorway, then paused. "You know," she said testily, "I spent the past five days wishing that I was here with you, and you're acting as though you barely noticed that I was gone."

"Of course I noticed that you were gone," Snape said, scowling. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm being ridiculous? You're the one who kissed me on the forehead as if I were your maiden aunt."

"I – what? When?" The _maiden aunt_ part threw him.

"Outside, just after I arrived," Hermione reminded him, her tone laden with indignation.

"I – didn't think that was the proper time –" Severus felt as if he were sliding down a slippery slope. Suddenly the difference between him and those poor sods suffering the same abuse at Hogwarts seemed very small indeed.

"The proper time," she echoed. "I see. Tell me, Severus, did you even miss me while I was away?"

"I said I did!"

"No, you said that you were delighted to see me."

Severus scowled. It was a prime example of the sort of nitpicking in which females tended to indulge, and he despised it thoroughly. "I _am _delighted to see you. And yes, I missed you."

"All right. How much, then? On a scale of one to ten, with one being that you were thrilled I was away, and ten being that you're ecstatic to see me?"

"What?" He wanted to tell Hermione that he'd had enough of this ridiculous game, and that she could bloody well take his word for it. Instead, Snape found himself staring at her in complete bewilderment. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"It's something Muggles do," Hermione said, waving a hand dismissively. "A scale of one to ten, Severus. How much did you miss me?"

Severus tried to protest, but the words failed to come. Just as the silence became excruciating, just when it seemed that Hermione would turn on her heel and stomp away in disgust, he managed to croak one word: "Eleven."

"What?" she asked crossly, not having heard his answer.

"Eleven," he repeated, fully aware that Hermione Granger had just hauled him in hook, line and sinker. Severus Snape, former Death Eater, former Potions Professor, was now every bit as trapped in the web of love as any other man who had ever lived. "On a scale of one to ten, eleven."

Hermione's eyes widened with shock. "Do you mean that?"

"More than anything." Severus heard himself say the words, but could barely believe that they'd issued from his own mouth. "If," he added weakly, "you must use some ridiculous Muggle method of comparison…"

For a moment, she couldn't trust herself to speak. And then, the pieces began to fall into place.

"You thought I wouldn't come back, didn't you?" she asked hoarsely. "You thought someone would convince me to stay in Britain. Or that I would tell them about you, and they'd try to talk some sense into me."

Severus froze. Hermione had just nailed every fear that had skittered across his mind these past few days. If there had ever been any doubt that he was completely out of his league where romance was concerned, here was the ugly proof. When he failed to mount any sort of rebuttal, Hermione moved to stand in front of him, then reached up to cradle his face in her hands.

And gently, she drew his head down and kissed him.

And then, she was in his arms and Severus was clutching her to him, and the fact that he'd just hurled himself over the precipice with all the other lemmings in their mad rush for love didn't seem quite so terrible after all. The landing was rather soft, he thought as he buried his face in her hair, inhaled her scent, hoped to never come up for air again. "Hermione… I didn't intend to hurt you… I've missed you terribly, and I didn't know if I _should_ be missing you like that, if it was even healthy, for Merlin's sake..."

Hermione's laughter was muffled by his chest: not the cruel, teasing laughter than Snape might have expected, but that of utter joy. "I think that you're approaching this far too analytically, dearest," she said softly.

"Am I?" He could feel his own heart pounding away, and Severus knew that if he didn't speak now, he might never find the courage again. "I love you, Hermione."

There was enough hesitation on her part that Snape wondered if he'd merely imagined saying the words. He drew back slightly so that he could see her face, fearing that perhaps he'd pushed things too far. In fact, he found that Hermione was looking up at him, her eyes bright with tears. _Oh, no…_

"And I love you," she whispered. "I know this sort of thing isn't easy for you. It's not all that easy for me, either. Do you think that perhaps we might work it out together?"

Severus suddenly found that he could breathe again. The world had righted itself, and he would have screamed with relief had he been the sort to do so. "That would be reasonable," he managed to say.

Just then, he heard the sound of rain pounding on the roof far above, striking the gravel path outside. Snape wasn't sure if the downpour had just started, or if they'd been completely oblivious to it until now.

"I have a fire going, upstairs," he said. "Would you like to take your tea and curl up in front of it? The new edition of _Potions International_ arrived yesterday."

"That sounds heavenly," Hermione sighed. "We'll get wet, though; I didn't bring my wand downstairs."

"Then," Severus said, one corner of his mouth curling into a hint of a smile, "we'll need to take our clothes off to dry, won't we?"


	19. Chapter 19

_**Chapter 19: Moving On**_

_Caldwell Pharmaceutical Potions, Ltd._

_12 Beet Street_

_Winnipeg, Manitoba_

_Dear Mr. Snow:_

_We at Caldwell Pharmaceuticals are pleased to inform you that the insect repellant 'Bugaway' (naming rights reserved, CPP Ltd., 2013) has been warmly received by dealers throughout Canada, with advance sales surpassing our preliminary expectations. It is with great delight that we announce our intent to begin marketing 'Bugaway' in the United States, and are investigating the possibility of branching out to the Southern Hemisphere._

_In accordance with the contract that you signed last August (6 August, 2013), we are enclosing a bank draft for your earnings year-to-date._

_Sincerely,_

_Brodie Winslow,_

_Chief of Development_

_Caldwell Pharmaceutical Potions, Ltd.

* * *

_

A full year had passed since Hermione Granger had first turned up on Snape's doorstep, a year of such sweeping change that had Severus known that first day where events would lead, he would probably have run screaming from the cabin. And yet, he conceded, such a blanket statement was unfair to Hermione. Snape would not have run due to fear, certainly.

He would have run out of genuine shock.

What amazed Severus the most, however, was that a year later the two of them were still in love. The close quarters of the cabin – especially during the long winter – had not jeopardized their relationship one whit. He had not tired of waking in the morning to find Hermione's curly hair tickling his nose, nor had he grown weary of the way she never seemed to return from Trapper's Bay without a dozen books from the Muggle lending library. At Christmastime, when Hermione talked about decorating a tree, Severus had balked, thinking of Albus Dumbledore's Yuletide extravagance. As it turned out, her idea was to hang animal treats on a pine tree visible from the cabin's living room. Snape had stood at the sliding glass doors to the deck, watching skeptically as Hermione hung orange peels, cranberries, and bread scraps on tree limbs. And when she had finished, there was a parade of wild creatures coming to visit for days on end.

"_We'll have animals showing up for weeks because they know we'll feed them," he pointed out, a dour expression on his face._

_Hermione had scoffed at this. "It's Christmas, Severus. It's about giving. Are a few scraps of food going to disrupt the balance of nature in this area?"_

In the end, he had to admit that the pleasure he derived from watching Hermione earnestly putting out her treats – followed by a North Woods menagerie plucking tidbits from the tree - was well worth it. It also begged the question of Christmas presents, and Severus was at a complete loss.

"_Did you want to exchange gifts?" he'd asked carefully._

"_I don't know." Hermione looked thoughtful. "I don't really need anything, living out here. Is there something that you would like?"_

Thirteen years of virtual seclusion had left Snape completely unaccustomed to wanting, and they finally decided to forgo exchanging presents. And yet, when Christmas morning came around, Severus found a new fishing rod waiting for him, adorned with a plaque that read 'S.S.'.

"_Thank you, but you needn't have." He had never been comfortable receiving presents, yet by now he knew better than to hurt Hermione's feelings. _

"_I know I needn't have. But now that you have your own rod and reel, you won't have to use Lawford's any longer." Hermione looked utterly pleased with herself. _

"_Then you won't object if I give you this." Snape pulled a present from under the sofa and handed it to her._

_Hermione knew at once that it was a book. She tugged the wrappings off and found a cookery book of favorite Ojibwa recipes from the region._

"_Severus, it's wonderful! We'll have all sorts of new dishes to try."_

Amazingly enough, Severus thought, Hermione had not tired of him. She was still there, still eagerly sharing his life and showing no inclination whatsoever to move on. Hermione was either horribly misguided (and Snape knew for a fact that she was not), or else he had not botched up this love business too badly.

He had even, against his better judgment, allowed Hermione to drag him to Saturday night bingo in Trapper's Bay

"_You know these people," Hermione had insisted. "You trade with them all the time. It's not as if you'd be walking into a roomful of strangers."_

"_The tobacco smoke is suffocating," Severus pointed out, scowling. "Your clothes will reek when you leave the building."_

"_All you need is a simply charm to protect your clothing."_

"_There's no charm to protect my lungs."_

"_Just once?" Hermione wheedled. "Come on, Severus, what do you have to lose?"_

"_My ability to breathe," Snape muttered. But in the end, he agreed to go along one time, and one time only. _

_It was a cold, snowy February night, and the miracle was that no one asked how they'd made it to town. Neola of the general store, who had put two and two together months earlier and concluded that Sebastian Snow had lied about finding a woman, was astonished to see the pair walk in._

"_Snow! Miss Hermione finally talked you into coming to Bingo!"_

_Severus had merely glared at her while Hermione paid the kitty and collected their bingo cards. He would have preferred to sit and let Hermione handle the game itself, but she would have none of it. As a result, Snape ended up winning a handmade quilt and fifty dollars, much to Hermione's delight._

"_Admit it," she coaxed after they'd returned home, "you enjoyed yourself tonight."_

"_It was a diversion," Severus grunted, trying to catch of whiff of lingering tobacco smoke on his clothing in order to complain about it. "Frankly, I preferred going to the concerts with Albus."_

"_Concerts with Albus?" Hermione echoed questioningly. "What concerts?"_

_Snape wondered if he could be humiliated any further that evening. "Albus loved chamber music. We went regularly to hear to the Aberdeen Classical Chamber Quartet."_

_Hermione's jaw dropped. "You did?" _

_Severus looked only slightly mortified now. "We had season tickets," he muttered._

They had gone back to the bingo game on three other occasions, but never with the same success. Still, Snape suspected that Hermione considered their outings to be highly successful simply because she'd dragged him out of the cabin.

The ultimate lesson that Severus had learned in the past year, however, was not about graciously accepting gifts, agreeing to attend bingo games, or even sharing a home with someone else. It was the discovery that his heart was so _exposed_, leaving him open to – well, everything, that took his breath away. There was no keeping love on his terms or holding it at arms' length. On more than one occasion during the past year, Severus swore that he'd felt more vulnerable than at any time in his life – and that included half a dozen occasions when he knelt in front of Voldemort, desperately practicing his Occlumency to keep the Order's secrets safe. The ultimate realization that Hermione wasn't going to take his heart and tear it into little shreds gave Severus the nerve to bring up the subject of marriage.

"I would like very much to commit myself to you formally," he told a stunned Hermione one evening as they sat on the deck. "You needn't answer now, of course. And regardless of what's passed between us this year, I would still understand if you chose to laugh in my face and walk out the door. I just want you to know that I don't view our relationship lightly."

"Severus…" Hermione looked as though she'd been struck on the head with a large rock. "Are you certain? I wouldn't think that you – I mean, making a commitment is terribly permanent, -"

"You don't wish to make a permanent commitment?" he asked carefully. This was an unexpected development, he thought.

"No, I do!" she protested at once. "It's just that I never thought it was something that _you _would want."

Snape considered this. "I never sought it until now. I suppose that's because the right opportunity never came along before."

"Oh. I – well, I – _yes_!" Hermione stammered, her facing lighting up.

"What?" He stared at her blankly.

"Yes. I'll – " She broke off, her brows furrowing into a sudden frown. "We _are_ talking about marriage here, aren't we?"

"Of course. Didn't I say – ?"

"You said 'commit formally', so I assumed – "

"Well, marriage, yes. That's what I meant." Severus had no intention of splitting hairs at this point.

A smile was tugging at the corners of Hermione's mouth. "Were you going to ask me, then?"

"I thought I just did."

"No, you said that would like to commit yourself to me formally."

He wanted to snarl that he wasn't going to play word games, and ask, Was she was going to marry him or not? Instead, Severus tried to don the most pleasant expression he could manage.

"Hermione," he said with exaggerated patience, "would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

That brought the feminine explosion: Hermione jumping from her seat to kiss him, tears springing up from nowhere, uttering a few squeals of unadulterated joy. It crossed Snape's mind to be appalled, then it occurred to him that he – the famed Greasy Git of Hogwarts – actually had the ability to make someone excruciatingly happy. It was something of a revelation.

Days later, at a regional Wizarding Ministry Office, Severus and Hermione were married in a two minute ceremony that was comprised largely of signing papers and reviewing the legal rights of married wizards in the Canadian provinces. There were no guests, no friends, no formalities. Afterwards, the two went to lunch and from there, back to the cabin to go fishing.

The reason that Severus now stood in the kitchen, preparing a salad with a precision born of years of potions preparation, was directly related to the announcement of their marriage. He supposed that it was inevitable that guests visit to offer their congratulations, but this could hardly be called a pleasant occasion. And then Snape heard the sharp popping noise that accompanied Apparition, and his jaws clenched immediately.

"Harry!"

Through the open kitchen window, Severus could see the dratted Boy-Who-Lived greeting Hermione with an enthusiastic hug. This was the downside of being married to Hermione, of course: he was no freer of Potters and Weasleys than he had ever been. On the upside, they all lived very far away, so it wasn't as though they'd be camping out on his doorstep at regular intervals.

Snape sighed. During the preceding days, Hermione hadn't once asked him to behave properly during Potter's visit, even though he'd been expecting such a diatribe. Instead, she had constantly reminded him that their guest would be staying a mere two or three hours, the unspoken implication being that he could surely tolerate Harry for that length of time. Potter was coming to Canada on a matter relating to his job in Magical Law Enforcement, and that was a plus; at least, Severus thought, he would not be required to entertain the entire family. All things considered, he concluded that a few hours of Harry Potter's presence was a reasonably small price to pay for the pleasure of being married to Hermione.

And now, it was time to pay the piper. Snape washed and dried his hands, straightened his shirt and walked outside to greet the new arrival.

The person he least wanted to see in the world ever again stood at the foot of the small front porch, hugging Hermione and saying how happy he was to be there. Then Hermione spotted Severus and extricated herself from Potter's embrace. Her expression – hopeful, happy, anxious – spoke volumes.

Harry followed her gaze.

Snape descended the steps slowly, studying Potter with caution. The boy – no, the man, he reminded himself - looked much the same, just older. He also looked quite out of place here in his wizard's robes. Aware that Hermione was watching with thinly-veiled anxiety, Severus extended his hand.

"Mr. Potter," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

"Mr. Snape." Harry matched him tone for tone as he reached out to respond to the proffered hand.

Two old enemies, scrutinizing each other with the utmost care, silently looking for weak spots and shreds of advantage. The green eyes were fixed intently on Snape, and Severus had to remind himself that this meeting was less about past grievances and more about whether he was being a good husband to Hermione. Under any other circumstances, he would have already been fingering his wand.

"Thank you for joining us today. You may wish to discard your robes. We're rather informal in this part of the North Woods."

"This is certainly a beautiful place," Harry commented.

"I knew you'd like it." Beaming, Hermione responded before Snape could answer. "Let me take you down to the lake. And I'll show you the lab and the garden, too."

"Garden?"

"We put in a garden this spring. Vegetables and some fruit, along with the herbs we need for potions. We're going to freeze or preserve what we can, so we'll have good homegrown food all winter."

Harry gave her an odd look, as if to say, _This is what happened to the smartest student in our year?_ For the first time, Severus felt as though he definitely had the upper hand: Potter might have been Hermione's best friend for a long time, yet no one knew her better right now than Snape himself.

"I'll finish the preparations while you lead the tour," Severus told Hermione.

"All right," she said cheerfully, taking Harry's arm and tugging him toward the path leading to the lake.

Snape returned to his kitchen duties, thinking that Hermione should be very pleased that neither he nor Potter had lunged for each other's throats yet. He put the final touches on the salad and took the fish off the grill, and by the time his wife and her friend entered the cabin, lunch was ready.

"This is really nice," Harry said, looking around the living room with its wide expanse of glass. "What a great view."

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Hermione said, smiling happily. "Harry, why don't you sit at the far end of the table? You'll have the best view from there."

Severus watched as Potter headed into the dining room, still looking around the cabin. He was quite sure that Potter quickly averted his eyes when they landed on the open bedroom door, and Snape smiled inwardly. _Makes you uncomfortable, does it, Potter? Seeing the bed I share with Hermione?_

"Oh," said Harry suddenly, patting his robe pockets. "I nearly forgot."

"Forgot what?" asked Hermione.

"Here," he said, withdrawing a small package from an interior pocket. "This is for you."

The object, the size of a small drinking glass, had been carefully wrapped in paper. Hermione took it from him and peeled the paper away.

"Oh, homemade jam. Please thank Ginny for me, will you?"

Harry shook his head. "It's from Molly. I think she might be trying to make amends."

Hermione froze in place. And then, without warning, she burst into tears.

Severus stared at her, wondering what in the world he was expected to do about his sobbing wife. And then he became aware of Harry Potter, staring at Hermione with an equally puzzled expression. Harry caught Snape's eye then, shrugged as if to say _Well, she always was a bit mad_, and smiled faintly.

It was a moment of stunning commonality: old enemies, suddenly united as two males confronted with the mystery of feminine emotions - and it made all the difference. Severus nodded in acknowledgement, his mouth twitching. "Hermione, are you all right?"

"What?" Hermione asked, pausing to sniff loudly.

"Are you quite all right?"

"Of course I am. I'm sorry," she stuttered. "Here, let me find a tissue. You two sit down and start eating, and I'll be right back."

The two men looked at each other. Severus sighed, and motioned toward one of the chairs at the dining table. "Sit down, Potter."

Harry glanced at him sharply as though he wanted to object to being ordered about, then pulled out a chair and sat. Snape took the seat opposite him. Just then, a sob from the bedroom punctuated the silence.

"Have some fish," Severus said, pushing a platter in Harry's direction.

Harry cleared his throat. "Did – ah – you catch these?"

"Hermione caught two of them this morning, and I caught the other three." Several weeks ago, Hermione had finally grasped the finer points of fishing, although Snape missed holding her tightly against him while he guided her arm in casting the line.

"I can't imagine Hermione fishing," Harry commented as he helped himself to a grilled walleye.

"She's become quite skilled at it."

"It seems that she's happy here."

How was he supposed to answer that? _Of course she's happy, Potter. I've placed her under Imperius, so she has no choice but to be happy…_ Aloud, Snape said, "She's worked hard to battle her past demons. Is the jam truly a peace offering?"

Harry was silent for a brief moment. "I believe so. All Ginny said was that I should be sure to tell Hermione that it was from Molly."

"It would mean a great deal to her."

"I figured that. Look, Snape…"

Eyeing Potter over the rim of his glass, Severus sipped his iced tea and waited.

"…I don't believe for a minute that we'll ever be close friends, but if Hermione cares for you, -"

"You'll try to tolerate me?" Snape asked dryly.

Harry studied him, as if trying to determine whether he was offended, serious, or teasing. Finally, he grinned and said. "Yeah. I'll try to tolerate you."

"Good," Severus said, helping himself to a serving of wild rice. "Because I'll need to do the same."

Hermione reappeared, clutching a tissue in her hand, her eyes slightly pink.

"Sorry," she apologized, sliding into her chair. "How is the fish?"

"Quite good," Harry told her. "I hear that you were responsible for catching some of them."

"I did," she admitted proudly. "And we harvested the wild rice ourselves."

Fork in mid-air, Harry paused to glance from Hermione to Snape. He seemed about to comment, but instead chose to focus on his plate.

The conversation throughout lunch was stilted. It felt as though the three of them were treading on eggshells, and Severus was frankly relieved when the meal ended and they carried their coffees out to the deck. He could tell that Hermione was tense; she'd no doubt envisioned a pleasant meal with all sorts of bonding taking place, and it simply wasn't going to happen - not this soon, possibly not ever. After an hour of discussing current politics in Britain (Snape couldn't have cared less) and the trends in potions production (Potter was obviously bored to tears), Harry cleared his throat and announced that he needed to be getting back to Toronto. The fact that Hermione made only the feeblest protests, spoke volumes.

"Write soon," Harry urged as he hugged his friend fiercely.

"I promise. Don't leave it all to Ginny, all right?"

"I'll do my best." His grin fading somewhat, Harry turned to face Snape. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"You're welcome," Severus said simply.

Harry glanced back at Hermione. "I know that she doesn't need looking after," he told Snape, "but I'd appreciate if you took good care of her."

"You have my word."

Harry offered his hand to Severus, and they shook hands once more. Then Harry Disapparated, leaving Hermione and Snape standing alone on the deck. Hermione moved closer to Severus, sliding her arm around his waist, while Snape put one arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

"You're dissatisfied with the way things went," he said quietly.

Hermione sighed. "I wanted him to be terribly impressed with this place. I thought it would be obvious why I'm so happy here, and then Harry would understand."

"I suspect that he _was _impressed, but I doubt that he understands. Potter wishes that you had made different choices, Hermione. You are a brilliant woman with much to contribute to the wizarding world, but you've chosen to go about it in a way that he cannot comprehend."

"Mmm." Hermione rested her head on Snape's shoulder and considered this. "I suppose. You were wonderful, by the way."

"Thank you. It wasn't quite as painful as I'd feared."

She grinned at the note of sarcasm in his voice. "I thought that the two of you behaved in a perfectly civilized manner. I was quite impressed, actually."

"I suppose that means we'll have to invite him back someday," Severus muttered.

"Hoisted by your own petard. That's what you get for being so accommodating."

"Obviously, marriage has softened me beyond hope. I shall have to 'get my edge back', as they say in town."

"I _am_ rather fond of the old Severus," Hermione teased.

"And that," Severus said softly, "is quite amazing."

_The End­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

_

_**A/N:** First and foremost, I owe many, many thanks to GraceHasVictory, who has done such a magnificent job translating English into English; and also to Keladry Lupin, who leapt into the breach to do her part. I'm more grateful than you can imagine._

_Secondly, I want to thank all who reviewed. Reviews are right up there with oxygen to breathe and water to drink in terms of the basic necessities of life for a writer. You all kept me going, and although I may not have replied to every review, I was grateful for each and every one. As the Ojibwa would say, "Mii-gwetch."_

_As far as the story itself: when push came to shove – and irregardless of the wonderful fics I'd read – I had difficulty imagining adult Snape with teen Hermione. I could not picture the two of them together until both had a chance to grow away from what came before. That's why I placed the two of them fifteen years post-Voldemort and in a far different setting. _

_Although I've never been to the Canadian North Woods, I have spent some time in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in northern Minnesota. It's a gorgeous place, and I hope to return some day. _


End file.
